Poo-Pooers

This morning I was thinking about guns being openly carried at Target's around the country (BAD idea) and then my brain went to this old memory.  I remembered one winter going to the much anticipated (by me anyway) Camp Longhorn Carnival.  It followed my first year as a camper and I was in LOVE.  I could not wait to get a dose of camp in the middle of winter.

So, I went, I had a ball, saw Tex and Pat and lots of campers and as part of the Carnival, I got a Raffle ticket.  Didn't think much about until right before they got ready to call the number.  Suddenly I KNEW they were going to call my number.  I was sure of it.  Tex reached in, fished around and out came his hand with a number.  Holding my ticket, I waited.  When he called out the number, sure enough, it was MY NUMBER.  I almost keeled over.

Now, I don't remember if I picked my prize or if they just gave it to me but knowing me, I picked it.  And what did I pick but none other than a bolt action 22 rifle just like the one I'd passed my bar on (or whatever they called it back then) the previous summer.  I had learned all the parts of the gun, shot to a certain level in all three positions required, could load and unload safely, and knew where and how to work the safety.  Honey, Annie Oakley had nothing on me.  I was thrilled out. of. my. mind. and I was twelve years old.

The minute I got home, I went upstairs, found my dad, and told him I'd "won a rifle".  He was reading something and barely looked over the top of his glasses at me before poo-pooing that I'd won a damn rifle.  First he tried to tell me it was an air rifle...then a BB gun... when the box clearly said bolt action 22 RIFLE, damn it.  Poo pooing me again.  He never even looked at the box.  Finally I opened the box and handed him the barrel and asked him to help me tighten it in place, and that's when he looked up.

He almost jumped out of the chair telling me "this is a rifle".  No, duh, Dad. I know that.  I later overheard him tell my mother I had "come home from the Longhorn Carnival with a RIFLE ....what kind of Camp is that?" and that's when I heard my mother tell him, laughing, "I know.  I heard the whole thing.  She tried to tell you it was a RIFLE but you wouldn't listen."  

I strutted around like a rooster for three days.   

Weekend wrap up

Saturday's trip to the Farmer's Market did not yield what I'd hoped.  The peaches we tried were OK--not great--and ditto on the tomatoes.  So, the planned cobblers in my mini skillets did not happen.  Yes, I could have made ones with berries but I wanted peaches.

So, as any little kid with a new toy would do, I simply had to play with one this morning.  I cooked my egg in one.  Waaaay fun and it's opened up a whole new avenue in cooking for me.  I can see these as a breakfast skillet on a cold (or even hot) Sunday morning or night filled with hash browns, cheese, green onion, crumbled bacon or sausage, and eggs.  Salsa?  Of course.  Cilantro?  Why not.
                                                          

Or, individual skillets of rolls for the roll eaters around my house (everyone).  Or chicken pot pies.  Don't even get me started on the desserts or I'll lose my mind.

 A gentle rain is falling here and Sis is doing what she does best.  Nap. If she could read--and I'm not positive she can't--she'd never get out of bed, period.  Warm snoozy hound.  Nothing better. 

FINALLY!!

My head is still spinning from yesterday and I can hardly believe it's OVER.  Finally.  After an almost ten year lawsuit against my family's company that went on to the Appeals Court and then on to the Texas Supreme Court, we got word yesterday that....WE WON.  Because our case would be setting a precedent in Texas, the Supreme Court took it's time releasing it's findings--almost 2 1/2 years--and yesterday was an EARTHQUAKE.

To say that this was a whipping of epic proportions and an exercise in ugly does not even begin to tell the tale.  The lessons learned at our end were valuable-- and painful.  The other side??  Hard to say what, if anything, they learned but, boy, howdy, we sure did.

When I went by yesterday to tell mom, she was at lunch.  At first I could tell she was not with the party at all, so I just visited and continued on.  Since she was one of the people named in the lawsuit and her dad started our company, I figured she might get the drift if I continued, and honey, she DID.

When I told her we won, her face lit up, her eyes sparkled, she hollered out, and then choked, and started laughing!  She yelled so loud she scared a lady at the table with us who had dozed off.  I could tell she wanted me to tell it again, so I did, and as I came to the end she yelled "WE WON!"

Those are the first intelligible words she has said in 2-3 weeks.

 For the person who initiated the lawsuit, I can only be grateful she did NOT prevail and, oddly, I feel sorry for her.  What she set in motion is only coming back at her and there's simply no place to hide.  Greed will do that.

This was her plan for our company (and more) and she was almost successful.  Bad news for her?  She got it instead.                                   

Snoopage Scoopage---update

                                                               

This update is hot off the press, straight from the front yard.  I put on my PI badge and here's what I found out: My block source says that super shy walking lady's name is actually Ruth, and she has lived with her elderly mom, for maybe 15 years.  It seems her mom was doing her usual chores --whatever that is at 96--when she keeled over and died.  Ruth then called 911 but her mom was ...well... already dead.  Boom.  Outta there.  Nice way to exit.

Now for the reported smell.  My source says it was actually a dead squirrel that the source was standing practically on top of, and that was the horrible smell--NOT Ruth's dead mother.  (If you aren't laughing now I give up.)

Truth be told, I honestly liked the other story better.  Much more sensational and dramatic. 

Snooping...

                                                                

Lord love me....I can get myself in more pickles than most sane folks.  Last night as we were walking Sis after dinner, we started talking about the house in the next block down--right where we were at the time--where someone had died last week and had not been found for several days.  Wow...the stench was awwwwful and I guess that's what made someone finally call 911.

Anyway, occasionally I'd see a lady about my age mowing the yard, and walking, but never anyone else.  She was nice enough but NOT a talker and very shy.  I simply could not imagine she was the one who had died, so my big fat idea was for us to walk down the driveway and snoop around and see if there was anyone inside.  While I kept Sis, Bruce (HEAD SNOOPER) walked down the driveway and comes hauling back saying there's a light on inside and that he thinks there's someone in the house.  Seeing him run like a scaredy cat made me howl so I suggest we both go back, with our ghost buster, Sis.  So we did.  Just as I'm taking it all in, I see movement out of the corner of my eye and it's the shy lady walker looking out the window, wondering what in the world we (I) are/am doing snooping around down her driveway.

I sheepishly wave and realize I am ALL ALONE, and that Bruce and Sis have hauled it up the driveway to the sidewalk, in front of the house.  You know... normal people territory.  I immediately turn and take the walk of shame back up the driveway where Head Snooper is now howling.  Even Sis is laughing. I am sooo busted.

I STILL don't know who died but my mission is to find out.  I'm thinking maybe shy walker lady may have lived with her elderly mother (?) but where was she for several days when whoever it was, died?   Stay tuned as I attempt to solve this mystery and stay out of trouble.  Maybe. 

Lazy Saturday

While Sis is gone with her dad to get a mani/pedi at the vet, I harvested my basil on the driveway.  No, I'm NOT willing to trim her claws myself because I ALWAYS hit the quick, she yips and acts like I've tried to cut off her paws and that's just more drama than I can handle.  As it is, she gets to go in the car--even if it IS to her least favorite place on Earth--and she gets to come home with her BFF.  It's not like she's staying-- but you can't convince her of that so don't bother. 

Here she is now and the good news is she's lost the two pounds her doctor wanted her to lose so she's a lean, mean, fighting machine with trimmed nails.  Go, Sis!!  She did the usual shakes on the way over in protest of going to "that place where NOTHING GOOD happens" but hung her head out with ears flying the entire way home.  How do you spell relief?  Riding HOME.

 This pic is not representative of how much basil is truly in the red bucket and the small container next to it but here is what all I cut.

The angle makes the bucket look small and it's anything but!  What you can't see is a new basil plant at 11 o'clock in the aloe vera pot that went rogue and is doing it's own thing from last years seeds.  He's going to run out of room in that pot so I may try and transplant him today and see if he can handle the stress.  He's the good specie--Genovese--that has those giant big floppy leaves that fit perfectly on a tomato slice. Like this:

Is it lunchtime yet????

Stuff

                                                             
Here's how my life is going....another week of this thing sitting right where it is until the Magnatron comes in and can be installed.  Oh, yeah....I don't want to forget this part, too.  The Grand Canyon in the kitchen where this baby used to be. It's enormous. Yes, I can still cook but aesthetically, this is just WRONG. 

I never realized how much I relied on my micro for just super quick stuff and I hate looking at that...... hole.  Enough whining.  Just wanted to be sure you felt my pain.                                              

And speaking of pain, I'm not sure Sis is feeling all that great.  As her resident Vet Tech, I'm thinking her meds for her Cushing's disease are giving her an upset tummy.  Her dad thinks it's her "trashing" but I haven't seen much of that lately.  Maybe when he lets her out at night she gets busy.  (eye roll)

Essentially, she's on chemo and we all know that makes you feel lousy.  After med's for her recent gastritis, she was a totally different girl so she may win herself a trip to the Vet today.  Right now she is "under observation" on my clinical decision unit in the den.  With nothing to report to the Vet other than she's just not herself, that's not a lot to go on and that means blood work.  Definitely not her favorite or my check books.

Our blackberry bushes are producing but I think we may have some weirdness going on with them.  Lots of the berries start out and then poop out, never getting all big and juicy.  Don't know if the bushes are just too young and undeveloped to handle the load or what, but I'll be researching to see what the deal is. 


Am giving blogging a go when the spirit moves me so maybe you see me, maybe you don't.  That's how I roll these days. 

Young Ages in Preston Center...remember?

An old buried memory popped up this morning, that of shopping with my mother as a young child.  Invariably it would be at Young Ages that was located in Preston Center where a string of restaurants have come and gone.  It was on the corner and I'll have to go see what restaurant is currently there.  Can't remember.

Anywho, depending on the time of day and mom's mood, shopping could either go well or head straight for hell with me strapped to it.  Mom's grandiosity would occasionally rear its ugly head to the sales lady and if it did, I knew to go hide in the clothes rounders and pretend she was NOT MY MOTHER.  Oh, HELL NO.  Who IS that lady???

She used to embarrass the crud out of all three of us when she got going and I remember somehow knowing even as a little kid, that my mom's behavior was not OK.  It was like shopping with Lady Astor. Having never worked even a day in her life, mom was always sure the staff was slow and inefficient and that she knew how to do it better.

If it was one of those days, I could count on the fact that we were going to lock horns over every ugly ass dress they had and I was going to be trying them on, too.  Mom even went so far as to buy several of them, over my protest that I was NEVER going to wear "that sack with the big bow on the chest" but buy it she did.  I shoved them as far back in my closet as possible and piled other things in front and over them, so she'd forget they were there.  I'd take the tags off so she'd think they were worn, if  she ever found them.  Once I'd outgrown them, what could she do except pitch them?  Not a damn thing.

Since I was #3, I think she finally figured out her system was not working and that it was easier and more fiscally wise just let me have what I liked.  Seldom was it horrible--certainly no worse than any of her's--and the power struggle finally d-ie-d.  When I got to pick, we were in and out in a heartbeat.

I just remember that there was nothing in this world more fun than driving mom crazy, with my sister as my accomplice, jazzing around and playing, while mom seethed. Those poor sales ladies at Young Ages.  I'm sure they saw it ALL.

Makes me evil laugh just to think about it.