Goodbye, May!

May was a very nice month, I thought.  Complainers complained about the cool weather and Boo-hoo: I could only smirk.  Those folks have short term memory of last year.  And the year before: no spring whatsoever, jumping from Cccold winter to Hhhot summer.  I think last year I turned my AC on in April. (But then, I am a delicate flower.)

May seemed to be a month of purple.  Purple irises, purple pansies, purple clematis.  It was a royal month of color!  I am not sure what this unwanted weed is, in a local wheat field (vetch, perhaps?  Someone help me out here.)  but as far as my eye is concerned, I can thank my lucky stars (of course, God), that this particular weed is so, so pretty.  It makes me think of Provence every time I drive into town.  The wheat farmer must suffer a heart attack every time he drives into town.

The road out front of our house is still closed (a highway, no less.).  It's been nine months, what the bridge folk anticipated.  I have no problem at all with the road in front of our house being closed: less traffic (MUCH!), and less noise.  Less rural Kansas dust.  I realize this creates a hardship for my neighbor farmers and ranchers, but this is my blog, and HEY!  I like the closed road.

Bad ducks:

I had coffee with a few of my coffee friends this morning.  A gardening conversation came up, and one friend mentioned that her mulch had been delivered.  Wha...????  Just a few days ago a neighbor (a farm/ranch neighbor, who employs farm/ranch hands!!) mentioned that her landscaping crew had delivered AND spread her mulch for her gardens this week.

Hmm.

Hmmmm.  Hmmmmmm!

I trekked to Home Depot this week, as is my annual thing, purchased a kabillion bags of mulch, hauled the  !*^/?+*!!  bags on a trolley to my car and proceeded to blithely (yes, not a care in my world) throw them into the back of my Volvo station wagon.  As though I had biceps of Popeye, I might add.  And THEN slitted/cut all the bags and tossed the mulch ever-so-easily to the gardens.


And then I find out my coffee ladies have this all done for them?  What the heck?!

The month of March held Family March Running: a mile-a-day of running or walking.  And then, in May, we held 400-Mile May:A month of cycling, 100-mile weeks.  Four (out of 64?) family members made it to 400 miles, as of this evening.  Starting tomorrow, we 64+ are embarking on Mile-a-Day June.  It should be a good time had by all.  We keep daily tabs on Facebook, and they are happy and encouraging and challenging.

That Spouse o' Mine, completing his 400: (He's so cute.)

Several weeks ago (many?), the neighbor cat went under our house to deliver her three kittens.  They stayed underground for a few weeks, and then the neighbors came over to collect said feline infants and their momma.  Cute kitties!  So cute, in fact...


The New Kit on the Armstrong Block.  No name, so far.  Noname?  NoNahmeh?  Nonami?  Stay tuned...Oh - and mincker suggestions are being collected.  Thank you very much. 

May Day...Last Few Days!

Omigoodness, the roses are blooming and the peonies - MY FAVORITE - (I have told my kids to plant them at my grave site...but I guess that will be hard to do since I think my ashes are to be made into fireworks) are tremendous this evening.

This evening, from whence the next ~96 hours of thunderstorms and tornadoes are to come. 

Ha ha ha!!  Come what may, I say.  I think the forecasters are trigger-happy after Moore's catastrophic afternoon.  That is so sad, and I do not make light of weather and tragedy, at all.

But I DO make light of the hyperactive forecasters and storm chasers.  They are on caffeine and speed and all those other drugs to which I am not privvy.  They talk too fast and they run their words together.  And they do not always use proper grammar.  Especially pronouns.  And adverbs!  Especially, adverbs!

We, that Spouse o' Mine and I, had a really nice three-day weekend for Memorial Day.  We didn't do anything.  Saturday, I cut irises for the church altar.  Sunday, that Spouse o' Mine and I hosted the Patio Fellowship after church (read: Lutheran coffee).  And we came home, it was HOT, and so I stayed inside the rest of the day.

I went upstairs to address the art room:  Many starts, and not so many completions.  I found a perennial movie favorite of mine (my family is SOooo tired of this one!!!)  "A Year in Provence", turned it on, and proceeded to quilt the day away.

It was lovely.

Inbetween Provence, I watched the cycling championships on TV with that Spouse o' Mine.  We loved it.  So nice to see new names - not all the stale "Le Tour" names which also come up wanting in the "doping" balances.

Anyway: A great weekend was had.

And here comes summer!.................

Garden Party

Notes on Musical Notes

I am in a twit this afternoon.  Music.  Musicians.  Musicians wannabes.  Rap stars.  Pop stars.

Ugh.

I was just watching blurb on some current pop star who "writes her own music".  Really, This "pop star" is 21 years old.  She sings a lot.  She goes out with guys and then the paparazzi sells all the photos to the press.  She "writes her own music".

Why should we look?  Or care?  Has she written a Missa Brevis?  I doubt it.  I doubt that this pop star-singer-whatever even knows what four-part harmony is.

I know, this is a negative entry, but REALLY.

And here I go, even more negative.  (So sorry.)  This morning at church we sang a Swahili song, and a Brazilian song.  Both in English.  So, we Lutherans are singing songs with a beat, and the beat does not coincide with the Lutheran song mode that is in our hearts.  And the beat(s) also do not REALLY work with the English translations of the Portuguese or the Swahili.  And finally, the songs are SO ding-dong repetitive, like my father reflects:

7-11 Songs: Seven words, repeated eleven times.

Yes - my Dad has got it so right!  Bring back our hymnals:  I read through the Justification hymns this morning during the sermon.  I have to say, they gave me great comfort in my reading.  I did wish that our hymns during the service did the same.  Swahili- and Brazilian-translated words and tunes just not do it for me.  I want some substance to my voice and song.  Something I can sing on my way home.

Not a 7-11.           

The Problem "Child"

He's not a child.  He's a dog.  A beautiful, sweet bloodhound.

How can he be the vortex to so much TROUBLE this week?!

Over the weekend, he hauled an animal part (large leg bone?) back home from the creek.  It was gross.  Rancid.  Smelly.  Pretty awful. 

Our dogs stay in their dog yard most of the time.  It's a large fenced area (larger than most city yards), and they have the indoor run of the broadside of the barn as well.  Even with all that space, I like to let them out in the pasture/creek area in the mornings and evenings for exercise and to remind the circling coyotes and foxes that yes, the domesticated canines have the run of the property.

A couple of days ago, just after the dead leg recovery, Beau the bloodhound romped down to the creek and brought back another treasure: the skull of the dead animal whose leg he had so proudly retrieved a day or so earlier.  It was awful: he wanted to show me his prize, and I was running backwards trying to keep out of physical contact with Beau.  Listeria!  Rabies! Awful germs that I don't know about but am afraid of anyway!  Beau had a hurt expression on his face when I was running backwards and screaming "No!  No!  No!"   

I have yet to find that skull in the dog yard. It is too awful for me to come to terms with, just yet.

I took the pups out this beautiful morning, at 6:30 am.  The pasture grass is up to my knees now, green as green can be.  I have my little mown path around the pasture, and the pups and I went down towards the creek.

Along that fence, on the creek side, the grass is even taller.  I saw something just on the other side of the fence - just a puff of black, a few inches higher than the grass.  Beau spotted it just when I did, and whoosh! over the fence he went to get a better look.


He took a direct hit from the skunk.

I suffered collateral damage.   

I came right back to the house and threw off my clothes (they are lying in the grotto; I may burn them.) and grabbed my vet friend Cate's remedy for all things skunk: dish detergent, baking soda, and hydrogen peroxide.  I showered and I can't smell it on me.  Paul couldn't smell it on me.  While I was showering and scrubbing, Beau made his way back to our yard and circled the house several times.  Eau de Skunk filtered into house.  I did vet friend Cate's other trick - the same one we flight attendants used to do for inflight vomit: coffee grounds in the oven @ 200º.  (Well, we flight attendants just poured fresh coffee grounds on the target spot on the plane, we didn't put grounds in the oven.)  And then?  I vacated the house for three hours.

Oh - and Beau?  Poor Beau.  I have yet to bathe that nasty hound dog.  That's on tonight's agenda.

Blech.