My muse has left me a note saying that it's run away from home.  It keeps sending postcards from the edge though, so while I eagerly await its return, here are 3,000 words. 

(Times 3......get it?  Oh good!  I thought you probably would.)

• IRRITATING: Xanga's driving me NUTS today, dammit. Can't load about half the places I've tried to go.......

• EXCITING: New granddaughter coming soon to this site.....due date getting closer by the minute and my "jazzed" factor is now at a dead run for "WHOO HOO!"

• THOUGHT-PROVOKING: Watched a documentary on Andrea Yates and remembered a bazillion reasons why religious fanatics always give me the heebies. The only people they ever reach aren't usually real stable to begin with and those dunderheads just create HELL on earth by fanning the flames of mental illness.

• DISHEARTENING: Got news that a dear friend has breast cancer. Everyone send up a good thought, okay? She'll beat it because she's that kind of chick......but it still sudks like a Hoover.

• SAD: Found a dead cat under the dogwood tree. Dunno if someone hit her with a car and laid her there or if she just chose that place to take her final nap. Wish I knew who her people were so I could tell 'em.....

• ANNOYING: Took my sweet mother-in-law for one of those yearly "tests" at the hospital. She's 83 years old and proudly refuses to use a wheelchair, for which I applaud her! But the "test" department was approximately 29 miles from the front door. Seems to me they could do a little better than that.......

• INSPIRING: The heat wave took a hiatus! Working outside today!!

• EXPENSIVE: A trip to the gas station yesterday. GAWD!

• GLORIOUS: Hibiscus in bloom!

• ANTICIPATORY: Morning Glories NOT in bloom. Whut's UP with that? It's almost AUGUST forcryingoutloud!

• PROBLEMATIC: Top half of a tree catapulted into the field by strong winds.

• BREATHTAKING: The green-ness that is Toad Hall in the summertime.

-------------------

Or maybe, in some cases, it's adverbivity. If so, my apologies to Mrs. Wilkes. (But frankly, ever since that time you hollered at me in class, I never liked you much, anyway.)

    My very best characteristic may be that I am easily amused.  I can always count on those "Fruit of the Loom" guys to make me laugh.

    My doctor, however, disagrees.  He maintains that my best characteristic is that my "good" cholesterol is very good and my "bad" cholesterol is very good, too.  Oh joy and stuff.

    I submit that this proves doctors are really lousy judges of character.

    And now I shall leave you with the immortal words of John Prine: 

    When he was born, I named him after the two men I admired most in the world, but ever since the day he outran me with his little toy plastic golf club and teed off on the neighbors’ newly planted flowers before I could grab him, to me he’s been “THE KID.”  Permanently in quotes and all caps.

    As a little guy, he had a million dollar personality, the most infectious laugh in the universe, and more energy than 17 Energizer Bunnies on crack.

    As a bigger little guy, he NEVER once looked before he leaped.  And believe me, he leaped all OVER the place.  Sheesh!

    Plus, his sister and I had to watch "Pete's Dragon" so many times that I actually began to grow a bit fond of Helen Reddy.

    Then he got older and spent most of his teenage years trying his dammdest to make me stop loving him.

    And through the entire 25 years we lived together, he had the attention span of a gnat, the motivation of a trout, and the inane logic of a creative genius hell bent on self-destruction.

    Raising him was costly as hell.  It took the pigmentation right out of my hair, ground my back molars down to mere nubs, made deep crevices in my formerly smooth brow, caused my face to begin sliding off my skull, and stole my sleep away on more nights than I can count. 
   
    It also cost a lot in monetary terms to replace all the stuff he kept breaking -- including but not limited to approximately 24 telephones and several cars -- and for tuition times three at a college which he never attended long enough to earn even half a credit.

    But you know whut?  There really IS a God.  Because “THE KID” has grown up to be even cooler than the two guys I named him for.....and an absolutely AWESOME dad.  (Or Da-DEE, as Aidan always says with heartfelt glee.)

    Okay, so he still doesn’t wear socks.  But hey!  Socks are probably overrated anyway.

    And you know whut else?  Getting to see “THE KID” with his kid makes it worth all those fiery hoops he made me jump through.  Times ten.

    Taking a (hopefully) brief sabbatical.  Stop.

    Not to worry.  Stop.

    Just need both hands for other things right now.  Stop.

    The frumps have stopped.  Stop.

    Carry on as your normal, off-center, selves!  Don't stop!

• GodDAMM this moodiness of mine, and a POX on the frumps!  I swear.....I should change my name to Upson Downs. 
   
    (When the frumps visit me, I tend to stay away from other people, which probably just prolongs the agony.  But I can’t even stand myself, so why subject friends & family to such an irascible persona?)

• Talked/conned a good Samaritan into cutting the downed tree limb into manageable pieces, but two days later, another huge limb promptly dropped from the sky.  It’s smaller though....perhaps I can drag it to the burn pile. 

    (Sorry Wissh, despite your encouragement I am still a big bucking chicken when it comes to chain saws.  I did see something that Black & Decker makes though -- I think they call it an Alligator.  It looks like it might prevent former urban bohemians like me from cutting any human limbs off, so perhaps I’ll invest in one of those......)

• The Weed Whacker parts that I ordered arrived, but whacking will have to wait.  If I attempt to use machinery while in the throes of the frumps, I tend to hurt myself.  Not to mention swearing like a Marine.

• I really NEED XM Satellite Radio, but only on Wednesdays at 10 a.m.  That’s when Dylan is DJ-ing “Theme Radio Hour.”  But gawd, the thoughts of PAYING for radio are anathema to me.  It’ll turn out to be just like cable TV -- $xx.xx per month and nothing on.  Except Dylan on Wednesdays.

• The birds went through 40 pounds of seed last week -- avian baby season is upon us -- so I stocked up & bought 80 pounds just to keep from having to go to the bird seed store for a couple weeks.  Heavy stuff, bird seed.

• Wonder why new grass grows faster than old grass?

• The county clerk's staff finally returned from the CON-frence, so the car titles got transferred successfully.  It only took 2 hours & 13 minutes of trekking back & forth between departments at the courthouse......departments which are across the street from one another, mind you.  Oh yeah.....and about 4 Excedrin.

• Safe deposit box remains in limbo until whenever I can kick myself out of this frump.  See above regarding swearing like a Marine.

• Does anyone drive a Pontiac Vibe or a PT Cruiser?  I think I need one or the other, but would like to get some input first from current owners.  No hurry though --  I can’t go around making major decisions until the frumps depart.

• Watched a show about the 60s yesterday.  It all looks so different when looking back.  Not like I remember it at all.  How could so many of us have sold out?  Here we are all these years later and have we learned anything?  Are we giving peace a chance?  As they say here in the south -- Hail NO!  (“Hail” is suthern for “Hell.”)  And Shee-itt, FAR!  (“Far” is suthern for “Fire.”)  It ain't worse I don't guess, but it ain't better, either.  We may as well have Nixon in the White House again. 

• Later, I caught parts of another show featuring McNamera.  Or however you spell that evil lying jerk’s name.  Old interviews with the rat bastard.  Whut a total waste of air time.  And those dreadful teeth of his!  Eeeew.  No surprise there though -- one wouldn’t expect Beelzebub to have nice teeth, would one?

• The old upright freezer in the garage coughed up its last breath of cold air and died.....taking a bunch of food with it.  Stink, stank, stunk.  And yuckarutchie, too.  But I did remember to thank GAWD for Clorox.

•  Happy Father’s Day, Pop!  Yep, I can see you peeking through that cloud at me and hear you telling me these frumps shall pass.  Fortunately I still remember ALL the wisdom you imparted over the years.  It was and is invaluable as hell!  And I love you.

•  Also Happy Father’s Day to the following Dads:  (1) Amazing Grace & IamLuke’s; (2) Aidan the Pensive’s; (3) Miss Madison, Bubby & Sissy’s; and (4) Genevieve the Charmer’s.

• More to come on an unfrumpy day.  Over and out. 

    Ever have a day -- or maybe even longer than a day -- when everything you try to do feels like driving down a one-way street the wrong way?

    It’s happening.  Right here, right now at Toad Hall.

    As of last Friday, the attorneys have gone from pleasantly reminding me to literally BADGERING the hell out of me to get probate closed.  I hate stuff like this.  I hate red tape and anything in which I must deal with government bureaucracy, but I don’t like being badgered, either.  Guess I’ll have to get off my ass and comply.

    But I can’t find the key to the lockbox.  There’s nothing in it, but I can’t close probate (or stop paying rent for the box) until I open the thing and prove to the courts that there’s nothing there but stale air.  No, the bank does not have another key.  If I can’t find the one assigned to us, I will have to pay to have the box drilled open (which requires an appointment on the 3rd Wednesday of months beginning with the letter “A” between the hours of 9 and 11 a.m.)  Even if I KNOW there’s nothing in the goddamm thing.  (Lindsey?  Whut the heck did you DO with that KEY???  I’ve looked everywhere but your sock drawer!)

    Furthermore, according to the attorneys, the car titles MUST be transferred immediately if not sooner.  I hate this too, because I LIKE having Lin’s name on the titles.  It just seems right to me.  But at least that task seemed like it might be easier.  I went to the Toad Hall filing system, which is a 30-gallon garbage bag full of smaller garbage bags. I set aside those smaller bags labeled “dogs” and “house” and “receipts,” finally coming to the one labeled “cars.”  Logical, right?  But I found only one title there -- the one for the Batmobile. 

    Clutching the Batmobile title tightly in my hand so as not to misplace it, I spent several hours rooting and rummaging around the rest of the house for the title to the Money Pit Car.  “Where,” I asked myself, “would he have put it?”  And then I remembered the treasure trove of books and magazines about Money Pit Cars.  Ha!  Success at last!  Right there on the bookshelf, next to the miniature wooden Buffalo and the model of the Indian motorcycle, in a binder labeled “The Money Pit Car,” was the title.  Whoo Hoo!  I’m off to see the county clerk!

    But then I had this inspiration that I probably oughta’ CALL the County Clerk to see whut ELSE I needed to bring along to complete this annoying exercise.  So I called.  And called, and called and called.  But no one ever answered the phone.  “It’s not a holiday.....so did the courthouse burn down?” I wondered.

    No.  The courthouse did not burn down.  I was assured of this by the nice lady in the “Driver Licensing” office:

    “Honey, everybody in the clerk’s office went down to the city today to one a’them CON-frences.  That’s why you don’t get no answer over there.”

    Apparently they do not believe in recordings at our esteemed County Courthouse.  You know -- the kind that tell you nobody’s “to home” and to call back another day?

    My brain has a conditioned response to this sort of thing -- it simply says “O-KAY... I’m done!”  Then it shuts down and fills itself with a dense, thick fog for an indeterminate length of time. For hours if I’m lucky......for days if I’m not.  It’s sorta’ like being stoned on good drugs, but not as fun and giggly.

    So now I can’t find ANYTHING......not even my cigarette lighter,  And I can’t REMEMBER anything either.......like whut I was gonna do next (besides smoke a lot).

    Monday
    •  Wrote about Sunday picnic fiasco
    •  Mowed, mowed, and mowed.

    Tuesday
    •  Put out a fire at the bank.  No, I'm not overdrawn this week, there was really a FIRE.  While sitting in line at the ATM I noticed the mulch around the aesthetically-placed-parking-lot shrubs was smoldering.  (Yep, you got it!  Some big dumb dufus threw a lit cigarette out.)
       Bank was closed.....nobody around but the guy in front of me, who couldn't see the fire from his car.  Nothing to do but jump out of my car & start stomping the fire. Unfortunately I was wearing my mocassins and also unfortunately, the mulch was about six inches deep and burning all the way through.  YEE-OUCHIE!  Then I remembered I had a bottle of water in the car.  (Yes, I know.  If I was any dumber I'd be a post.)
      Got the fire put out, but it was too late for the mocassins.  And they were my best pair, too!  Sigh.  Wonder if any Apaches ever encountered this problem while war-dancing around the fire?

    Wednesday
    •  Ugh.  Some icky virus attacked me.  All day long.  I figure I picked it up from some sicko at the grocery on Tuesday.  Or who knows?  Maybe some terrorist had tossed his leftover anthrax on the smoldering pine mulch at the bank.

    Thursday
    •  Beautiful day!  Windless and not a cloud in the sky!  Was blissfully enjoying my morning cup of blessed java and admiring paradise through my kitchen window.  Then suddenly.....c rrr aa c k, THUD!  A huge branch that used to be part of the bird-feeder tree is now on the ground.  Dunno why, except the tree IS very old.  Lin left me a chain saw, but I am the world's biggest chicken about chain saws, so the limb is still laying there.  Anybody know a good tree service?

    Friday
    •  Obsessive Olga from across the road woke me up and then called FOUR MORE TIMES -- count 'em, 4!  -- before noon (!) to tell me about her gingivitis.  I kid you not.  The woman is determined to drive me bonkers.  Feeling crazed and not having any mood-enhancing drugs to take, I opted to tackle the weeds around the fence just to get away from the goddamm phone!  Guess I was a little too enthusiastic about the eradication of the weeds though.  I broke my weed whacker.  Spent the rest of the day online trying to find replacement parts.

   
    Gawd.  Does anyone have a LIFE for sale?  I really need one.

  
    For some unknown reason, everyone in the entire universe (except for me) thinks picnics are simply delightful.  But everyone in the entire universe (except for me) is about as wrong as an 89-year-old guy sporting a Speedo at the community pool.

    Whut picnics ARE:  Hot and sweaty affairs where you've gotta drag everything in the kitchen out to some remote mosquito-infested area, cook some sort of meat over a blazing fire until it's the consistency of treated lumber, and then attempt to chew it.  To accompany that, you get to eat a lot of warm food that's supposed to be cold food.   And drink warm beer.

     After that, there's always a good old volleyball game, and you end up taking someone to the emergency room because they drank too much warm beer, got too hot, threw up, & became dehydrated. 

    Finally, after 17 hours and 23 minutes in the emergency room, you've gotta go BACK to the picnic site with your flashlight and look for your Coleman Cooler and your leftover potato salad. 

    I submit that this is NOT fun.  Under any circumstances.

    Unfortunately however, if one is gainfully employed during one's lifetime, there are always obligatory employee picnics.  EVERY   goddamm   SUMMER! 

    And if one has children, (and I had two), there are triple the number (times two!) of obligatory picnics -- Little League, Soccer, Sunday School, Camp and etc.   Also every   goddamm   summer! 

    Most people who know me well have listened to my opinion of picnics ad nauseum and gleefully leave me off the invitation list.....for which I thank GAWD daily!

    Somehow though, despite all my rants and diatribes over a number of picnic-riddled years, I managed to get hornswoggled into attending one yesterday.  I got up at the obligatory crack of dawn, loaded the car with obligatory food & chairs and drove to the edge of the earth to pick up my sweeet mother-in-law.  She had more obligatory stuff to load in the car.  Then we drove for two hours to the picnic site, ate some REALLY dried-out barbequed chicken, met some people who had some REALLY ugly babies, and drove home.  

    Having acquired a foul disposition and indigestion, I seriously considered kicking the cat when I finally got home.  But I'm always a sucker for those big soulful green eyes when he greets me at the door, so I fed him some salmon instead.

    Overall, it was a most unsatisfactory outing.....but as I have been taught always to look for the silver lining in every cloud, here it is:  Nobody wanted to play volleyball.

    Almost everything I know about raising asparagus I learned from my beloved Lindsey Green Thumb, a man who could stick a hoe-handle in the ground and make it grow.  (He arrived for our second "date" with a big grin on his face and a HUGE "Asparagus Bouquet" that took both hands to carry.  No, he did not bring me Lilies or Roses....he brought me asparagus!  Which obviously explains a lot about how he won my heart forever.)

    Anyway, he tended to get overly enthused about planting stuff, and he also tended to spoil me rotten -- so when he found out how much I love asparagus he planted 60 crowns.  This was in addition to the 12 crowns of asparagus still growing here that his Granddaddy Richard had planted before he was born -- some 60-odd years ago.

    (Yes, if cared for properly, asparagus just keeps on going and going, sorta' like the Energizer Bunny.  Lin told me there is asparagus growing at George Washington's home that was planted during the time he lived there!)

    But my mother used to talk about asparagus some, too.  She would tell about cutting it on the farm where she lived with her parents during the Depression.  They must've had even more than I do because I recall that she talked of cutting it early every morning and then taking the family pick-up in the afternoon and delivering the asparagus to a three restaurants, a grocer, and a country club.  The much-needed cash earned from this helped buy things for the family (7 kids!) that they couldn't raise or make themselves.  Since there's no way to cut asparagus without either bending or stooping, it had to have been a back-breaking enterprise for her, but I didn't really grasp that part until I had my own to cut.

    According to Lin, if you plant crowns in the fall you can begin cutting the next spring.  If you plant seeds, you have to wait 3 years before cutting.  I don't think that all garden experts agree with this -- some of 'em say wait 3 years no matter what -- but trust me, it's worked just fine here.  I've got asparagus coming out of my ears!

    I still haven't figured out how to get my own photos from the camera to the computer, but here are somebody's else's pix so you can see whut it looks like: