Here's a newsflash:  If one insists on doing stupid things, one will have a stupid life.

       Last Wednesday I harvested the year's final crop of asparagus.  (Time to let it grow into ferns now.)

       But I forgot that I cannot go outside at this stupid time of  year without having slathered my entire body in mosquito repellent.  Those vile, evil little creatures were INSATIABLE.  Gawd!  They even bit me through my stupid CLOTHES! 

       So now I am covered with stupid lumps, every one of which itches with a stupid vengeance.

       And I expect I shall be too stupidly itchy to learn anything else for days.  I'm going MAD, I tell you!  Stark.  Raving.  Stupidly.   MAD!!

    For the next several days, Fifi O'Toole can be found sitting up to her neck in a tub of baking soda water -- reading Faulkner and snacking on asparagus.

    Puddin’ celebrated her 100th birthday this past Sunday.  She received her many guests seated in a wing back chair at a very upscale home for senior citizens.  Until just recently, she had her own 3-room apartment there, but on Sunday she confided to us that she is unable to care for herself any longer and must stay in a semiprivate room now.  “It’s a nice enough room,” she conceded,  “but the woman who shares it is just plain old and senile, so I have requested a new roommate -- someone who still has all her faculties, for goodness sake!”

    Smiles and laughter ensued.  But we were laughing with her, not at her.  I doubt if anyone has ever laughed at Puddin’.   Not in a hundred years.

    Because although she must rely on a walker to get around now, Puddin’ still manages to radiate regalilty.  The utmost in dignity and grace, she is always dressed fashionably in tasteful (and no doubt expensive) clothes, her nails manicured and every lovely white hair in place.  Photographs tell the story best -- she hasn’t looked a day over 65 since she was 90.

    I congratulated Puddin’ on a long life, well-lived.  She smiled and asked me to write in her “Memory Book.”  I wrote about how honored I was the first time I met her 6 years ago and recalled what she said at the time:  “My given name is Elizabeth, but my father always called me Puddin’.  And I like you, so you may call me that, too.”

     "And I like you, too, Puddin', " I concluded.

    Puddin’ is my sweet mother-in-law’s cousin -- they are daughters of two Clausen brothers, Richard and Fritz, whose German parents came to America and settled here in Kentucky.  The girls grew up together -- Helen living with her parents & siblings in the house where I live now, and Puddin’ living with her family on a farm down the road a-piece.  Helen is much younger -- a mere 83 this past April.  She had memories for Puddin’s book, too -- but her gentle hands are gnarled with “arthur-itis” and not easily coaxed into holding a pen. She asked if I would write what she told me, and so I did:

    “Puddin’, remember the time I came to visit you and your sisters when I was just a little girl and you had to feed and water the turkeys?  I loved watching you do that, but I never saw so many turkeys in one place before!   I began to count those turkeys and when I got to 30 I was just sure that y’all must be rich to have so many!”

    Puddin’ is happy to be 100, and so I am happy for her.  She's lived an amazing life, first as a young farm girl, later as the wife of one of Kentucky's (infamous) horse trainers and mother of a son who died at age 6.  She's traveled extensively, entertained dignitaries, and made thousands of friends.  At age 100, her memory is perfectly intact.  To describe her as "remarkable" seems understated to me, but I can't seem to come up with a better descriptor.

    You know whut, though?  One hundred years would be far too many to suit me.  I do not have even the teeniest desire to live that long and shall remain unwaveringly hopeful that since I am not nearly so remarkable, I will not be required to do so!

National Headline:  FBI Searches Michigan Site for Signs of Jimmy Hoffa

O'Toole's View:  Jeeze-o-PETE!  They’ve been looking for this guy’s bones & teeth for a hundred YEARS now!  I submit that this is proof positive:  The FBI cannot find their own asses (unless they have an informant).  And btw, don’t they have anything ELSE to do?  Where the heck are Mulder and Scully when you need ‘em?

   
National Headline:  Kentucky Family Fights to Keep Pet Lion

O'Toole's View:  Gawd.  I had no idea that Wal-Mart sold Lion Chow!  Or perhaps he’s been eating the neighbors......hence the fight.

National Headline:  Divorce Could Cost McCartney a Quarter of His Fortune

O'Toole's View:  Gosh!  I sure hope he remembers to make a note of that in his checkbook!

National Headline:  Tape Shows Man Fell Overboard From Cruise Ship

O'Toole's View:  Of course no one actually LOOKED at the tape until the guy’d been dead for hours.  Man, those surveillance cameras sure do come in handy.

National Headline:  Senate OKs Border Fence

O'Toole View:  This would be hilarious if it wasn’t gonna be so dammed expensive.  It won’t do any good, of course....and isn’t it kind of like locking the barn after the horses went on the hoof?  Mio Dios.

National Headline:  Madonna Crucifies Herself...

O'Toole View:  ...right after she crucified all the people who paid $300+ to watch......

National Headline:  Dog the Bounty Hunter Weds Following Death of His Daughter

O'Toole View:  Hmm.  Wonder if Emily Post attended the reception?

 
Toad Hall Headline:  Former Urban Bohemian Gets Hands Dirty, Ruins Manicure

O'Toole View:  Serenaded by alternating sounds of Luther Allison & Stevie Ray Vaughn, Fifi O’Toole donned her mauve knee pads and planted perennials all weekend.  Which proves that she is not too old to learn new tricks.  Or get blisters. 

It also explains why farmers don’t go in much for long fingernails.

Those dammed flowers had better FLOURISH -- that's all I have to say.

This just in from Princess Prissy:

    Amazing Grace doesn't know it yet, but she will receive the "Kindergarten Spirit Award" next Thursday when she "graduates" to 1st Grade.    

    WHOO HOO!!!!!  (insert drum roll followed by 30-piece brass band here)

    Whut I know so far about the "Spirit Award" is that it is a huge honor.  It goes to the kindest & most helpful kid and the only way to get it is by a balloting of peers.

    WHOO HOO!!!!  (insert image of Feef doing a cartwheel here)

    Q:  Am I gonna be there to see the presentation of this award? 

    A:  They couldn't keep me away with handcuffs & duct tape!!  Even if it IS at the dastardly hour of 8 a.m.  (I haven't yet learned the rationale behind it, but apparently Catholics prefer to do ALL the important stuff at the crack of dawn.)

    Q:  Will I cry and blubber shamelessly with pride & joy, thereby causing my entire family to disavow any kinship?

    A:  Gawd!  Are you kidding?  I'm practically crying NOW, for crissakes!

Amazing Grace in her Derby Cap

Okay, okay.  End of doting, prideful grandparent stuff.  For awhile, anyway.

May 15, 2006 - Monday, late at night

Hey Babe,

    As of today, I've been muddling through life without you for a year.  I thought today would be the hardest of all for me, but instead, it was the days prior that were the roughest......I guess because I couldn't stop remembering how hard life was for you last spring.  Today though, I thought mostly about the ever so many, ever so happy times we had together.

    In fact, the worst part of the entire day was that I had to get up by that obnoxious alarm clock this morning.  Yeah, I still hate that contraption, but your mom was coming at noon and some things never change:  If I wanna be awake by noon, I’ve gotta get up by 9 at the latest.  Plus, there was the usual chore of de-hairing the chairs to do -- so Mamaw wouldn’t have to sit on big boufs of Buster hair when she got here.

    Amazingly, I caught myself singing while I ran the sweeper.  I couldn’t believe it.  Who would have thought I could sing about anything today?  But it was this silly little ditty from a TV commercial for Advantix.  Every time I see it, I think about how much you loved animals and how much they all loved you.  The star of this particular spot is a little puppy -- part yellow Lab, I think -- and he’s prancing around wearing his bandana, accompanied by a “doggie” voice-over singing,

    “There ain’t no bugs on me; there ain’t no bugs on me! 
    There may be bugs on some a’you mugs but there ain’t no bugs on me!” 

    Anyway, I figured you’d probably smile at the song -- and probably laugh at me for singing it.

    (Not to worry -- I remember.  There ain’t no bugs on any of our critters either.  I still make sure that Sadie, Angel, Lexi and Buster get their Revolution regularly.  Right on time, every single month -- it’s on the calendar!  Since old Diablo Whiney Wolf is hanging with you now, I figure we're covered from every angle.)

    You know, of course, why your mom came to visit today.......she wanted me to take her down to Shiloh to visit your grave.  Yeah, I know you’re not there -- but you’ve gotta admit it’s still a pretty good place to leave flowers for you.  I went out early and cut a whole bunch of the purple Iris that grow on the far side of the old garage for you....they’ve been absolutely gorgeous this year!  But when Mamaw got here, she had a teeny tiny bouquet of baby roses clutched ever so tightly in her hand.  I could see that it was important for her to be the one to bring you flowers on this day.  So I divided the Irises and left some for your dad and some for Grandmother Lula and Granddaddy Richard instead.  When the Hibiscus comes in bloom -- which’ll be pretty shortly now -- I’ll leave some of those for you, okay? 

    (Btw, you noticed I got your Crepe Myrtle transplanted last fall, right?  I put it out front near the road, exactly where you thought it should go.  It hasn’t bloomed yet, but it sure is growing like gang-busters!)

    Ralph and Carol came today, too.  Ralph hemmed and hawed and mumbled something about not wanting me to be alone today.  It made me remember how you and I always marveled at his big old gnarly heart.  He misses you.  We all miss you. For awhile there last November, Ralph came awfully close to joining you, but finally got to feeling better and opted to stick around here a bit longer.  Sometimes he needs to use a cane now though, so I hunted up that crazy thing you bought just before you died and gave it to him.  Remember?  It comes apart for folding and then snaps back together when you shake it?  And just like you, Ralph thought it was the coolest!  I swear......boys and their toys.

    Today was gray and cold for this time of year.  Only 50 degrees, I think someone said.  My kind of weather, but you’d have said it was freezing and that we needed a fire for sure.  And it looked like rain all day long, but none ever came. 

    Tomorrow the sun is supposed to shine again, so I’ll probably cut asparagus and then mow some.  Good night, Lindsey.  I love you.

P.S.  Since I was gone a good part of the day, Buster was certain that he was being starved.  Rotten cat demanded three helpings of supper!

Diablo, Lin, & Sadie

    I've always been annoyed by the commercial "Mother's Day" thing. I'm pretty sure
it was invented by Hallmark or some florist somewhere who was having a slow season.
The real "Mother's Days" aren't necessarily annual. They come
sporadically and are ever so much more gratifying than every second Sunday in
May. 

    "Mother's Days" are all those days when you see your children display
empathy and compassion.  And the days when he or she realizes a personal
potential.  And the days that he/she is walking on air due to reaching a
goal, winning a game, finding a love, cherishing a child of his/her own,
etc. etc. Those are the REAL "Mother's Days," and nothing else can ever
measure up.

    Having said that, there's more:

    To Princess Prissy:  Your note made me smile big.  Your lifetime gift to me is you being you.  I am humbled to realize that very little of the credit for that is mine.  I love you beyond Zebra.

    To THE KID:  Your note made me laugh big.  Your lifetime gift to me is that you are who you are in spite of yourself.  The end result that you have produced is all to your credit and has made it worth every single second of every single day.  I love you and would do it all again (but I'm awful darned glad I don't have to)!

    To Nick and Clyde Bodinski:  I know that this day is a bittersweet one for both of you, but it is obvious to me and to everyone who knows you that your mom was a wonderful woman.  You are both awesome examples of her love for you.  I knew her just well enough to know that she would be so very, very pleased that you are who you are.  And so very proud.

    P.S.  Your lifetime gift to me is that you welcomed me into your lives without hesitation and have never been anything but kind to me.  I love you both as though you were my very own.  And I  always will.

    To Loopy Louise, a/k/a the NGRSD (who will never know I wrote this because she wouldn't "get it"):  We probably will never see eye-to-eye and I fear your road will always be hazardous and your life will always be fraught with struggles of your own making.  But you possess many redeeming qualitites too often hidden away.  Despite my fears for you, I will always continue to hope that the light will dawn and you will begin to invite good things and good times your way.

    To ALL the offspring -- mine and Lin's:  The REAL Mother's Days invoke feelings of pure delight and never fail to make me want to dance with happiness!  Life would be empty without them.  So, a thousand thank yous for all those REAL Mother's (and Stepmother's) Days! 

• It was colder than a well digger's heel here yesterday.  I had to wear SOCKS. 

• Ditto today.  So much for spring.

• Nevertheless, too cold beats the hell out of too hot.

• The weeds in front of the house are, apparently, bionic.  After spraying generic "Round-Up" on
them last Tuesday, they are now taller and heartier than ever before.

• Should I get rocks or mulch for the flower beds?  Or should I just bag the flower idea, conserve my energy and continue to cultivate weeds? 

• There is 9 metric tons of dog & cat hair on the floor.  It's clean and flea-less hair, though.  Perhaps I'll make pillows for Xmas presents this year. 

• Relevant to nothing: The very best thing south of the Mason-Dixon line is warm cornbread slathered in Apple Butter.

• Relevant to all my offspring, step-offspring, and offspring-in-laws (with the exception of the no-good, rotten SD):  Sunday is Mothers' Day.  I expect every single one of you to meditate warmly and fuzzily about me for at least 30 uninterrupted seconds, dammit.  (Chanting and/or ohm-ing is purely optional.)

• Note to just THE KID:  In your case, make that 60 seconds.  (Unless you can teach me how to work this dingdaddled digital camera before then -- in which case I'll spot you a 30-second credit.)

• Command to self:  Stop gathering wool and go do something productive!

• Answer to self:  Okay.