• Broken tooth is partially fixed. Only my insurance company knows if it eventually will be completely fixed. How I long for the days when insurance companies did not rule the world.

                        Oh but wait! Then I'd be 13 years old again and
                        suffering through ALGEBRA class. Nevermind.

• Note to Teme and Wissh: How fortunate I am to know two chicks who live in the very same city where Joyce Smith and I attended first grade! Maybe she's still there! She had blue eyes, a square jaw, and blonde hair that she wore in a ponytail. And one lower front tooth missing. Do keep looking!

                        Yeah, I know there are several million people to
                        sift through, but the phrase "It's a small world"
                        comes to mind...

• Will someone PLEASE invent an allergy med that doesn't make me feel as though I am walking around under muddy water?

                        I suppose I could just shave the cat and flush the
                        meds. But that would only solve the indoor problem...
                        and annoy the cat beyond zebra.

• It occurs to me that this blog is the perfect avenue for avoiding tasks that I abhor.

                        If only those tasks did not have such loud voices...

• My sister-in-law the Dervish is descending upon us this weekend. What fresh hell will whirl in with her this time?

                        Thanks, Teme & Dorothy! It's a marvelously useful phrase.

• One sorta' icky thing about living out here at the edge of the earth is that it's impossible to get a pizza delivered.

                        And I get frantic for pizza every time I think about that....

• Whoo HOO! A weather check reveals it's supposed to be cold and rain all weekend. Perhaps we won't be conned into cleaning/straightening out Mamaw's garage...

                        ...which is only a mess because Dervish keeps filling
                        it with junk that she acquires and then cannot fit
                        in the car for the trip home.

• THE KID is firmly convinced that I am going to die from Avian Flu sooner rather than later because I won't stop feeding the birds.

                        I adore THE KID, (he's my son after all) but he does seem
                        to spend a lot of time out on a limb somewhere -- so mighten'd
                        he meet the same fate?

• Is there anything else on my mind that wants to be stated here?

                        Yes. I am quite proud to say that I have NEVER  met
                        Larry the Cable Guy.  Or George Dubbya Shrub.

Fifi O'Toole has left the building. She can be found busily slogging through today's field of molasses and singing "Ol' 55" along with The Eagles.

Apologies, for starters, to Ed Kaz and Kalamutnah for being a day late with the assignment. I had to run out for a bit yesterday and while I was gone one of the dogs ate my homework. I’m reasonably certain it was Angel because -- true story -- on Saturday I caught her eating the mail....which included the warranty for my gravestone.

(Is half a warranty better than none? Will I even care by the time I am under the stone? Does Angel need more fiber in her diet? Stay tuned indefinitely for the answers to these and numerous other mysteries of life.)

Okay, so the assignment, which I’ve been unmercifully nagged into accepting, is to list 6 weird things about myself and then go out and tag 6 more poor slobs into doing the same. The thing is, it’s difficult because I don’t think I am weird. “Weird” is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?  New Jersey is weird...I know this because I subscribe to the magazine. Melted Kosher cheese on nuked bananas is VERY weird. Dennis Rodman is pretty weird....so is my friend George.  And hey!  Compared to Dog the Bounty Hunter, I am the most UNweird person on earth. So here:

Six Things In No Particular Order That Are NOT As Weird As Dog The Bounty Hunter

1)  I think I ate half a tooth with my breakfast bagel this morning. It’s gone missing and that’s the only reasonable assumption.

2)  I do not own a cell phone that takes pictures. In fact, I have to drive 4.2 miles down the road so that it will even take calls.

3)  If I ever find Joyce Smith, the dreadful little brat from first grade who told me there was no Santa Claus, I shall hire a hitman and damn the expense.

4)  I am an accomplished ear wiggler, but a dismal failure at tongue rolling.

5)  My children’s inheritance consists of 800+ CDs, a tall mermaid lamp, a medium-sized chicken stanchion, a huge framed photograph of Bob Dylan, and a working toaster that is even older than I am.

6) In my former life, I hope I was Tallulah Bankhead, but I’d settle for Dorothy Parker.

This has been one of those weeks when my brain would not sit still for love nor money. (Well, maybe for money, but no one has offered any, so I’ll never know.) It’s a fairly regular occurrence these days and apparently there’s nothing to be done but let it run free until it exhausts itself.

Feef:                 “Run free little brain! Run free!”

Feef’s Brain:      “I’ll race you to the mailbox! No wait...make that the garage!"

Feef:                “Good idea! I'll grab the power washer for the porches!”

Feef’s Brain:     “Wash the porches? Today? Whut about the laundry?”

Feef:                 “Maybe I should wash the dogs today instead of the house.”

Feef’s Brain:       “Did you give Lexi her pill this morning?”

Feef:                  “I’m so excited! We’re having another granddaughter in August!”

Feef’s Brain:       “Is it lunchtime yet?”

Feef:                  “Why did I leave the toolbox in the living room?”

Feef’s Brain:       “Your right rear tire looks low.....”

Feef:                  “Have we seen Buster Cat lately?”

Feef’s Brain:       “Well, maybe just a snack for now.”

Feef:                   “You know, life without music would be such a drab affair.....”

Feef’s Brain:        “Another granddaughter......wow.”

Feef:                   “Did we ever get the mail? Maybe my new book is here!”

Feef’s Brain:        “When you gonna finish those curtains?”

Feef:                   “Make a note. I need to re-caulk around the bathtub.”

Feef’s Brain:        “YOU make a note: TAXES!”

Feef:                   “I’m ever so glad we’re not on drugs.....”

Remember the Morton Salt Girl? She must've made a mint for that company. A few rainy days in a row and I invariably start thinking about her.

I might've been 5 or 6 -- barely old enough to read -- the first time I remember paying any attention to the round Morton Salt box my mother kept in the cabinet. She got it out to fill salt shakers and I noticed the little girl with the umbrella. She couldn't have been any older than ME and she had an UMBRELLA of her VERY OWN!

So for the bazillionth time, I began reciting reasons why *I* needed an umbrella, pointing out to my mother that the little girl on the salt box had one and so did my friend Joannie Ricardo. And for the bazillionth time, my mother insisted that I was not old enough for an umbrella of my own -- they could be dangerous...maybe put someone's EYE out...maybe when I got OLDER...and yadda, yadda, yadda.

I tried pleading, I tried reasoning, I tried whining, wheedling, and pouting. Nothing worked; my mother had made up her mind and would not be swayed. So I did what every little kid does at one time or another -- I stomped my foot and shouted that IT WASN'T FAIR!

And then I got sent to my room, but as I flounced out of the kitchen, I managed to get in the last word: "Well she's a STUPID little girl anyway," I said emphatically. "When it rains it pours doesn't make one bit of sense!"

I think I was probably 25 or so before I finally "got" it. (insert drum roll & cymbals here) OH! When it RAINS, the SALT pours! Duh.

So THAT'S what that stupid little girl (with the umbrella of her very own) was talking about.

Rain, rain and MORE rain for the last 3 days and probably at least another week or more into the future. Fortunately, Toad Hall Farm is up on a hill or I’d have to consider planting a crop of rice instead of other crops this spring.

(And speaking of growing rice, here's a thought bubble: Do you actually PLANT the rice under water? Surely not. I cannot recall even a single photo of China in which the rice farmers were sporting scuba or snorkeling gear. Usually they’re STANDING in water, wearing those pointy straw hats on their heads. I shouldn’t think those hats would make very good underwater attire...wouldn’t they pop up to the surface and float away once their wearers dived under?)

But anyway, as I was saying, it’s RAINING! I love rainy days and always have. Why? I dunno, but they give me great energy and feelings of serenity at the same time. It’s not worth puzzling over the reasons for that -- I’ve puzzled many times to no avail -- but one thing’s certain: I am EVER so grateful that I do not live in a desert! Gawd! No wonder there’s been a war going on the Middle East since Moses was knee-high to a locust. Everyone over there is crabby as hell because it never rains! That’s my theory anyhow, and I’m sticking TO it.

Rain, as long as it’s not in the form of a hurricane or tsunami, is a good thing for lots of reasons other than soothing my spirit though. First off, and maybe most importantly,I bet there are HUNDREDS of good SONGS about rain! Secondly, rain helps quench the 35-foot thirst of Richard and Lula Hollytree, and all the other awesomely beautiful trees and shrubs that grow here in Skylight! And third, I always have a good excuse for frizzy hair when it rains! In fact, at this particular (serene) moment, I can think of only two ungood things about rain -- my dogs and my roof.

The dogs, of course, would prefer never to BE in the rain, but since they don’t use litter boxes there’s really no choice but to insist that they go out occasionally. And the rain doesn’t exactly hurt them, although they might argue the point. No, the trouble comes when the dogs come in OUT of the rain reeking of “Eau d’WetDog,” an aroma which wafts its way through the entire house and causes my friends to bring their own cans of room deodorizer if they visit during Monsoon Season. The positive side to this is that it does tend to keep away people who do not love animals. For me, that’s a huge plus because anyone who hates animals is probably a commie-pinko-rat anyway and I don’t want to be around them.

The roof and the rain is a different story. Although I like to hear rain on the roof as much as the next guy, learning to feel okay about hearing it dripping THROUGH the roof -- which it often does in the back room of this old farmhouse -- took considerable time. I finally managed it though. After years with my true love, “Lindsey the Laid-Back,” I merely thank the heavens it only leaks in that one room -- where even friends who love wet dogs are not allowed to go.

Yeah, I know....there are people out there in the world called “Roofers” and you pay them to FIX leaking roofs. The yellow pages of my phone book are FILLED with advertisements and phone numbers for folks who make a living that way. But there’s never been one who could stop the leak in THIS roof. I am told it’s been tried unsuccessfully time and again over the last 50-or-so years. Proof of this is in the multitude of receipts my late husband saved. (Remember awhile back when I told you he saved EVERYTHING? Yep. Receipts too!) Some of these receipts were paid by him, but he even had a couple that were paid by his GRANDPARENTS when they lived here. One especially astronomical receipt is for a brand spanking NEW roof over that part of the house.

And the leak goes on.

It no longer makes me uncomfortable enough to interfere with my “rainy day serenity” though. After all, it’s still just a dribble these many years later, and I only have to empty the strategically-placed bucket every now and then. There’s oodles and oodles of time between emptyings to do other stuff... like let the dogs in and out. Plus -- and I am quite positive about this -- it beats the heck out of living someplace where there’s no such THING as a leaky roof......like Iraq or Afghanistan. Or even Arizona.

Signed,

Rainy Day Woman

P.S. Here's a quick list of MORE good songs about rain that come to mind. Know others? Add 'em to the list if you want!

-Rainy Night In Georgia, Ray Charles
-Who'll Stop the Rain, CCR
-Feels Like Rain, John Hiatt
-Don't Rain on My Parade, Streisand
-It's Raining Here This Morning, Ralph Stanley II
-Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head, B.J. Thomas
-It's Raining It's Pouring, The Mother Goose Singers and others
-Thunder Only Happens When It's Raining, Fleetwood Mac
-It's Raining, Etta James

Disclaimer: This is NOT a message to that guy who played Magnum’s friend on the TV Series. Not that I wouldn’t wish him a happy birthday if I could, but I can’t remember his real name -- which is okay because he doesn’t know MY name either -- and anyway, I’m pretty sure it’s not his birthday today.

Now that we’ve gotten past the legalities, the REAL TC knows who she is (MOST of the time, anyway) and this message is for her:

-Thanks for being one of my bestest of friends -- through some amazingly magic and incredibly tragic times.

-Thanks for your malapropisms that cause me to howl with laughter. (I know you never do that because you have “something up your arm” -- it’s only on account of most of the time you’re “behind the goat” with one deadline or another.)

-Thanks for thinking of me every time you hear Arlo singing that he doesn’t want a pickle.

-Thanks for loving Princess Prissy and THE KID almost as much as I do.

-Thanks for trying to convince me that “The Wizard of Oz” is really NOT the most annoying movie ever made. It didn’t work, but thanks for trying.

-Thanks for moving to LOO-uh-vulle so I could follow you down the “Yellow Brick Road.”

-Thanks for all those times I was pissed off at something or another and you made me stop gnashing my teeth and start laughing in spite of myself.

-Thanks for allowing me to watch and attempt to emulate your incredibly perceptive method of gracefully and/or ungracefully defusing potentially explosive situations -- with some VERY volatile personalities at times.

-Thanks for straightening me out on the fact that SPIKE Lee is no relation to BRUCE Lee. I’ve found over the years that it is a good thing to know.

-Thanks for being the sort of person who “gets” John Prine’s lyrics. (I’m pretty sure he wrote “Big Ole’ Goofy World” just for you.)

HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GOOBETTE! If I could’ve made it to Lily’s today, I would’ve soloed “Build Me Up Buttercup” just for you, so give thanks to the gods that I couldn’t make it. Besides, I’d lay odds that some of our buds remembered to sing you the T-Bar-B Birthday song, and hey! Whut could be better than that?

Princess Prissy, #1 daughter, has been holding out on me! All this time I thought she wasn't "into" computers...she never reads her email, after all. But apparently that's because she's been too busy downloading music!

Thanks to her husband, who gave me a map to the secret place where she goes, you don't gotta guess how I spent my Sunday. Dunno if this is good or bad, however because only two things got done at Toad Hall yesterday: (1) Repetitious hitting of "download" button, and (2) Feeding of the animals.

Thus today, undone stuff screams for attention. What's that old saying -- "if you wanna dance, you gotta pay the band?" Sigh. No dancing for Fifi today.

Audiophilia (is that even a word?) is a serious addiction (and apparently one that's genetically predisposed). Nevertheless, I heartily recommend it!

P.S. There's a song I couldn't find...and I NEED it EVER so desperately! Somebody (I won't mention any names but he hangs out in a place called Shellpile) might be able to steer me in a direction to find that very rare version (not the one heard on most Beach Boys albums) of "I Can Hear Music."

If so, please TELL...immediately if not sooner!

First attempt at posting pix. (Thanks to a friend). I have a lot to learn, obviously.

Note: Size of photos do not bear any correlation to the space these critters take up in my heart.

Amazing Grace, Clown Princess

and

Aidan & Luke, Guilty as Charged

and

Miss Genevieve, The Charmer

Good:
-After wintering in the old drafty garage, John Deere went to the Urgent Treatment Tractor Center and came home all tuned up for spring -- blades sharpened, fluids changed, and undercarriage power-washed.

Bad:
-His health insurance did not cover any of the care he received.

Ugly:
--Mr. Deere and I soon will become inseparable because there is so much grass here in Paradise that I barely have time for a life between mowings.

Good:
-George Bush went to India.

Bad:
-He doesn’t plan on staying there.

Ugly:
-He patted himself on the back several times for JOB Out Sourcing. Sheesh.

Good:
-My friend hooked me up to an awesome web site.

Bad:
-I didn’t get much of a chance yesterday to go there and play.

Ugly:
-Now that I have time to play, my favorite browser refuses to open.

Good:
-George (not Bush...the one who actually FIXES things) dropped by but he didn’t stay long.

Bad:
-He had one of his unruly Dobermans with him.

Ugly:
-Despite my polite delivery of 482 reasons why I cannot keep his dogs while he runs off to Nigeria for two years, he continues to ask...even BEG me to reconsider. (He’s gonna MAKE me be rude, isn’t he? And it’s going to ruin my day when it happens.)

Good:
-Dinner with two VERY awesome friends last night. I shall call them Ruby and Pearl because they are BOTH jewels! We yakked incessantly, catching up on the various anomalies of each others’ lives over the past few months. We laughed at adversities, reveled in successes, commiserated over minor annoyances, toasted life and friendship with iced tea -- one sweetened and two un -- and vowed we’d do it all over again come April.

Bad:
-The place we chose to meet & eat (because of its convenient location) turned out to be one of those Frequent Fryer Restaurants. The food was negligible at best.

Ugly:
-I forgot to stop at the grocery on the way home so I offered the cat some dog food for supper . He declared it to be totally unacceptable and threatened to keep tapping on my arm all night unless I opened a can of salmon. I finally caved, he finally ate. But he still gets annoyed when he recalls the episode.

Good:
-A phone call from Gertrude Gripely (not her real name, obviously) who wanted to rant and rave about my no good rotten stepdaughter and her three fatherless daughters was MERCIFULLY interrupted by call waiting.

Bad:
-It was Obsessive Olga from across the road.

Ugly:
-O.O. asked, of all things, if I would hold her YARN this afternoon while she rolls it into a ball. Unfortunately, the offer of such a fun time left me momentarily speechless, which she quickly took for a “sure, why not?” (Guess I could’ve told her I had to GO somewhere, but then I’d actually have to GO, since she watches my every move through her binoculars.) Sigh. I would rather eat SPAM but it doesn’t seem to be an option.

Okay, I’m done. Nothing more to add to this epistle except to proclaim my undying gratitude to Roger Miller who sang, “You can’t take a shower in a parakeet cage, but you can be happy if you’ve a mind to!”

The two magnificent Holly trees stand side by side, reaching toward the sky. They were planted 15 feet apart over 60 years ago by Lin’s grandmother and granddaddy, but now there is no space at all between them. Over 40 feet tall and continuing to grow, their branches intermingle now and they huddle together, facing whatever comes like an old married couple still very much in love.

Born and bred a city chick, I knew little of trees before I came to live here at Toad Hall Farm -- and I wondered aloud why only one of them had berries. Laughing with delight, as he always did at my un-country ways, Lin explained to me that the female bore the fruit and the male just stood there and loved her. (Pretty poetic for a farm dude, huh?)

“What were your grandparents names?” I asked him.

“Grandaddy Richard and Grandmother Lula,” he replied.

And so I gave those names to the Holly trees: Grandmother Lula for her, standing so straight and tall with beautiful thick foliage and a GLORIOUSLY grand abundance of berries attempting unsuccessfully to weigh down her branches; Grandaddy Richard for him.

Richard’s leaves are more sparse and farther apart than Lula’s -- he is the “plain” one, sporting none of the red berries that make her so beautiful. He doesn’t appear to be as tall as Lula either, but upon closer inspection you can see that actually, he’s a little taller. It’s just that about midway up, his sturdy trunk begins to bend toward his bride...as if to use his branches to protect her from the wind. He is beautiful in his own right.

A few years ago in the spring, Lula’s new leaves appeared pale and dotted with small black spots. Lin said she was old, and perhaps it was time for her to go. “No,” I insisted. We will make her well again.

After some research, I learned that Lula had born so many berries for so long that she had depleted the soil around her of the minerals needed to sustain such beauty. She needed fertilizer to keep her foliage green, and a special fungicide to chase the black spots away... and it was more than likely she would need this treatment every year from then on in order to keep her healthy.

“It will take at least 50 pounds of fertilizer,” Lin told me. “And you will have to carry water in 5-gallon buckets,” he cautioned, raising an eyebrow dubiously at my skinny, underdeveloped female arms.

“I can do it!” I answered defiantly. And I did. That year and every year that has followed, I have watched carefully for a pleasant day in February or early March and set aside several hours for Lula. Starting last year it began to take longer...Richard didn’t have any black spots on his leaves, but he confided to me that he was feeling a little tired, and could use his own 50 pounds of fertilizer to help him feel a little spunkier. “Anything, Grandaddy,” I told him. “For as long as I am able, anything at all for you and Grandmother.”

This year, yesterday was "Lula and Richard Day," so today my arms are crazy. I could barely lift the coffee pot this morning and my fingers don't want to work right on the keyboard. But do I care? Nope. Not even a little.