THEY'RE COMING TO TAKE ME AWAY

They're coming to take me away ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-haaa, to the funny farm where life is...... Hey, wait a minute, hold the presses! I already live on the funny farm. It's called the Ponderosa where the lush winter wheat field radiates a brilliant emerald green. Where well fed cattle graze and happily chew their cud. A land where the birds sing melodies that fill the Ozarks air and one can hear Chalky the donkey braying for a juicy afternoon treat. Ahhh, this is a land where things seldom go as planned. It's a world that could drive a Type-A obsessively organized farm chick totally mad going completely berserk.

I spent last week on my hands and knees vacuuming every thick carpet fiber. Every nook and cranny of overstuffed furniture was sucked dry of any dust particles so completely the dust mites have vacated the premises and are shopping for new dwellings. I have emptied the dirty gatherings on my utility room floor and gone through every blessed dusty speck. The ashes of the fire place have been examined as thoroughly as a CSI investigation. My car has had the same treatment. I searched through trash, Walmart bags and yes even the peanut butter. Yep, this chick loves her Jiff. The local health food store even gave me their dirt to examine. Nasty!!! Bet ya'll are thinkin' this is some strange behavior even for Nezzy. Well, I lost the diamond out of my wedding ring a week ago. It just ripped my heart out because it IS my wedding ring. I have wasted a week digging, searching and turning my knees into hamburger to no avail when I needed to be working on Thanksgiving and packing for the trip to south Texas.

Saturday I had the day planned. I would clean the house (I know, but my name is Nezzy~I need help!) copy and put together next quarters curriculum for Kids Church which I had to be distributed to my helpers Sunday. I'd make the thorn arrangement Pastor had requested for his Sunday sermon and make a huge batch of dressing for the Thanksgiving banquet after services Sunday. My Sunday School lesson would be put together and I would study for Kids Church. Somewhere in here I'd wash my hair and do my nails. Diamond hunting through the week had left little time to do such trivial tasks.

Saturday morn came and Hubby thought it would be an excellent day to vaccinate the cattle that escaped last time and castrate the young bulls. When the wild eyed cattle were rounded~up we poked, cut and wormed the over sized bovine followed by the Great American Cattle Drive down the road to greener pastures. Most the cattle were perfect trailblazers but there are always a few who delight in running though or jumpin' over fences like crazed Olympians. After all trophys were awarded for the highest jumper and the fastest runner, Hubby wanted to go to a nearby town to pick up our new car. Flying to the house faster than a squirrel with a jet pack, I commenced to scrub the manure smell off,twist my hair in a cute little french knot and toss on some make-up. Ya'll know I'm not going anywhere without my makeup! I returned home and kicked myself into high gear. Working like an ant after hearing a winter storm forecast every task above was completed. WooHoo! Does this chick know how to get-er-done, or what? Nothing wrong with me except I'm still amazed how the heck I managed to put the cheese in the hamper. Yes, I did!

Sunday came early and so did my Sunday School class. Kids Church was a blast but I'm always exhausted by the time it's over. The Thanksgiving banquet was delicious and the fellowship even better. I washed the dishes as others helped with clean up and we came home. Day of rest, day of rest, day of rest, right? Oh, Lord I'm sorry but it was warm and I wanted to get a coat of wax on the car before it hit the salty corrosive air of Brownsville, so I waxed the car.

I'm going nuts. My push for perfection and attention to details have me overwhelmed. My day, hourly and minute plans have gone out the window like a bird freaked by a pouncing cat. Forget the fact that our very large Thanksgiving celebration is tomorrow. Forget the packing is not completed nor is the food ready. Here I sit blogging like I have nothing else to do. Why you ask? Because I want to wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving with your families. I want to tell ya'll to enjoy all the love that surrounds you so much that your lap may never be empty. I wanted to tell you that before those nice young men in their clean white coats take me to the happy home with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers as the 1966 song of Napoleon XIV goes. I will be in the Texas gulf for a week an will see ya'll when I get back. 'Just wanted to say all that because I fear "THEY'RE COMING TO TAKE ME AWAY"

ABA-DABA HONEYMOON

Toilet paper in a four roll pack could be purchased for five pennies. A can of Campbell's tomato soup was a mere dime and a ten pound bag of potatoes brought a whopping thirty~five cents. It was a time when a housewife could fill a grocery bag with three cans of cream corn for thirty eight cents, a loaf of bread for twelve cents and treat the family to a T-bone steak for fifty nine cents a pound. Tunes such a "Hey, Good Lookin," "Unforgettable" and the theme to "I Love Lucy" were blaring from Thunderbird convertibles. George Burns and Gracie Allen were burning up the airways along with "Whats my Line" and the "Jack Benny show." Harry S. Truman was President and the United Nations had just opened in New York City. John Hustons dramatic film "The African Queen" staring Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn premiered in Hollywood. The year was 1951 and their song was" Mona Lisa".

Country mouse meets city mouse. He was stationed on the Sandia Army Base in Albuquerque, New Mexico as a Military Policeman. She worked at a local movie theater where she had once told John Wayne over the phone, "Ya, right and I'm Marylin Monroe!" She couldn't get the paint out of her hair from painting their new apartment and he couldn't wait to make her his bride. The wedding would be a simple home ceremony with close family and a few friends.

November 14, 1951 at 7:30 in the evening my mother and father exchanged their wedding vows. Mom wasn't going to let a little paint in her hair ruin her day. Dad had less than twenty-four hours before he had to report back to duty. They told everybody they were going to Santa Fe to honeymoon. Oh, that would have been so lovely but time would not allow such a luxurious trip. Ain't nothing worse than a bunch of MP's barging in on a couple 'cause the grooms gone AWOL, so they stopped at a little Podunk town with a Podunk motel and well.... let's just say there was no honeymoon suite available. 'Nuff said. Dad was back on base in time and what did Mom do on her second night of wedded bliss? Can you say slumber party? Her best friend Emma and some other chicks spent the night at her newly painted apartment gabbin' and gassin' as gals do when they get together. Mom and Dad lived in that little apartment until Dad was discharged from the Army about a year later and the Missouri move was on.

Poor Mama moved from the city where water ran freely from faucets and one could use inside facilities. The town was a small rural community with population less than 300. The farm house was a large two story home with electricity but no running water. The bathroom facilities consisted of a two seater outhouse tucked behind two large lilac bushes. Mom was a duck out of water, a chick out of her element. She was moved to a land which spoke a foreign language. Words like county-pin meant bedspread and a safe was a cupboard used to store flour and dishes. When my grandmother announced she needed to go to the closet my mother watched as Grannie walked out of the house and beyond the front porch. Mom's curiosity was quenched when she discovered the word closet meant outhouse. Who knew?

My uncle came to help Dad put screens on the house and Mom was in charge of preparing the meal. Dad asked mom if she would fry a chicken for them. Not knowing what was to come next Mom answered," sure!" Dad went outside ran down a chicken, rang it's neck, beheaded it, plucked it and slapped its naked body on the table saying "there ya go" as he walked off leaving Mom in shocking despair. My uncle noticed the citified look on Mom face stating, "ya don't know how to dress a chicken do ya?" He then proceeded to teach Mom the ways of the Ozarks and cut the critter up for her. Moms first attempt to help with cattle was during a loading event. Dad placed Mom in a space by the loading chute and told her just to stand there and the cattle would go obediently in. Ya right, if you work with cattle ya know they seldom do what their suppose to. Dad headed the cattle toward Mom. Now if your a city gal and you have a herd of cattle runnin' right at you , what's a city girl gonna do? Of course she's gonna let out the loudest bloodcurdling scream from the deepest depths of her lungs and jump right up in the middle of the hood of Hubby's truck. This granted abundant amusement and entertainment to all the in-laws.

Fifty eight years ago my parents married. I was born in 1952 exactly ten months later. In 1960 I was blessed with a sister , a real live doll to play with. Mom eased her way into country life embracing many years on the farm where she could cut up a chicken faster than her butcher in Albuquerque. My parents have since moved to Brownsville, Texas where Dad will never have to feed cattle in the snow and ice again. Soon after Thanksgiving we will be making the trip to see them leaving the Ponderosa behind where I moved after my "Aba-Daba Honeymoon." Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!!!

I CAN'T HELP MYSELF(SUGAR PIE, HONEY BUNCH)

Sarai is the original name in Hebrew from which the name Sarah sprang forth. It means princess. Grace is Latin meaning a favored blessing, a virtue name referring to God's grace. This precocious perfect princess just had her forth birthday. Sarah Grace is simply a bubbling broth of personality charming anyone who crosses her path. Ya just look into those big browns and melt like a Popsicle on a humid summer day. {SIGH}

She delights in coloring, loves books and is curious about everything. Our favored blessing is an avid helper and is always right on the spot to offer assistance. Although she is totally different from her big sister Honor, she wants to be just like her. That 'Gracie'(as we call Miss Sara) girl is meltdown cute and knows how to work it.

During Honors birthday party Sara had anyone who would listen trying to help her find her beautiful fairy dress. Guests were lead into her bedroom to search her closet, under her bed and in her toys until her mother announced that 'Gracie did not own said beautiful fairy dress. ' This rockin' grandmas light bulb lit up like a Christmas tree with the perfect birthday present for this enchanted child, a beautiful fairy dress! An inquisitive adult guest then asked the question, "Sara what color will your fairy dress be?" "PINK, I want my fairy dress to be pink," the wide eyed child replied. OK, a beautiful pink fairy dress, how hard can that be? I want to stop right now and personally thank the guest who posed the color question to Sarah, it made my life extremely interesting the next few weeks. I found beautiful fairy dresses 'Gracie's' size in soft heavenly white, fluffy frilly yellows and a most beautiful misty green winged frock I'd ever laid eyes on. The search wasn't easy but with great determination a beautiful pink fairy dress was in the bag. Yep, grandma got'er done.

My son told me this story the other day. All four children were hopping around the house as bunnies. It really doesn't take much to entertain us down here in the Ozarks. Brother Joel raised up with an " arrrrrrrr" swatting the air with his bunny claws. My son states, "Oh no, we have a rabid~ rabbit in our midst." A couple days later Sarah crawls up in her daddy's lap making a wrinkly face going 'arrrrrr' at her daddy. Son asks, "and.... what are you?" 'Cause one rarely knows around that active animalhousehold. Sarah giggled her little giggle and said, "I'm a bunny~bunny daddy!" That's our Gracie!

Our little favored princess blessing who is full of grace brings our family joy every day. I see that wide faced smile and all I want to do is scoop her up like a big dip of cappuccino chocolate chunk ice cream and cover those pink chubby cheeks with my special noisy grandma kisses. As the Four Tops sang on their Motown single released in 1965, "I Can't Help Myself"...(Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch!!!)

RING OF FIRE

It's untamed unrestrained frolicking flame tempts me and teases me. The romantic forceful flicker freely dancing about inhaling oxygen summons and beckons me into its magical powers. Hi, my name is Nezzy and I love fire. Yep, I adore setting fires. I covet watching the uninhibited consumption of the forceful blaze. Living smack in the middle of the Ponderosa allows me to feed my addiction. I get to burn trash, brush piles and enjoy the heat pushing from my fireplace every blessed day of winter. Hi, my name is Nezzy and I might be a pyromaniac. I once burned a hole in my moms kitchen linoleum floor as a young fire crazed child. When mom left the house to do chores I headed for the matches. I truly believe it is hereditary. My son loves the flame and he married a gal who loves to burn. I caught my twelve year old grandson just sittin' staring into the fireplace announcing he'd rather watch fire than T.V. Today I want to touch on a subject that burns within.

PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT: Wrap up the babies and get the young'ens out of the room. The subject today is for mature audiences only!

Men-o-pause: What the heck do men have to do with it? Rita Rudner once said, "Male menopause is a lot more fun than female menopause. With female menopause you gain weight and get hot flashes. Male menopause-you get to date young girls and drive motorcycles." Well let me tell ya'll, major mood swings, racing pulse, drenched clothes and sleepless nights are not this farm chicks idea of fun. Your temp can swing from hot as a fireplace to livin' in an igloo faster than an Ozarks weather change. This is not your mothers menopause. Our mothers were on birth-control pills and stayed on them during "the change" which I believe kept them from turning into a psycho mama drama. I never saw my mother want to shuck her pantyhose right in the middle of praise and worship service 'cause they were melting into every pore of her body. How do you know your in perimenopause? Well girls, if you have stripped your heating system from your house and put it in the neighbors yard sell your probably there. Your definitively there if you are calming watching your favorite program or reading a good book and get the urge to rip off your clothes and run naked through the cow pastures.

The symptoms differ for each individual at various intensities. One might see a change in their periods. A once monthly visitor might skip a month or decide to come visitin' several times. Until three months ago I thought I would be the only old lady in the nursing home that attendants would have to order tampons for. I could just hear 'em, "Did anyone buy the OBs? Aunt Flow has come to visit Nezzy again!" Weight gain seems to become a problem at this time sometimes causing a menopot otherwise known as the midriff bulge. Seventy five percent of ya gals suffer from power surges (hot flashes). Your internal furnace basically short-circuits putting you on a roller coaster ride of wet hot sweat that soon turns cold and clammy ending with a mass of freezing chills. Ya step out of your wonderfully relaxing bath toweling off to apply lotion that only wants to lather. Nobody promised this was going to be pleasant. Night sweats are just hot flashes that give you menomares and steals your sleep waking you up so you can change your sheets and put on some flippers. If you see your Hubby shivering and putting on more clothes you know you have entered this phase. Others suffer from the forgetful menobrain or fuzzy thinking that is just a form of temporary insanity. These menopausal moments can be rather entertaining. Instead of having another emotional breakdown just dance and celebrate because you finally found the missing toilet paper you stored in the freezer. Some experience mood swings that don't require a mood ring to tell anyone around to stand back and give you your moment. There is hair loss due to the imbalance of hormones and facial hair growth for the same reason. Then comes the drying of the skin and the absence of your natural personal lubricants leaving you as dry as the Mojave Desert. Not needing to be reminded I'm still one hot chick has not been the highlight in my life.

I will try not to dwell upon the fact that this phenomena can last up to ten years. I'm just tryin' to focus on the joy that I haven't chocked the life out of anyone yet. Hubby keeps reminding me in his very wise tone, "this too shall pass!!!"

Ah, I see the light....there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Help is out there in many forms. I decided not to go the way of HRT treatment due to the vast side effects and go au'natural. I am just a natural kinda gal. In the beginning little tweaks helped. I practice yoga, exercised and ate a balanced diet. Aloe Vera gel is a great personal lubricant. Soyshakes are good along with added vitamin E. I added a topical progesterone cream and passion flower as I progressed. Two years later I added black cohosh. A couple years later red clover was added to the mix. Then the walls collapsed and I was having sweats every fifteen minutes day and night with little or no sleep. It wasn't a pretty sight. A topical estrogen cream was added. I tried an array of products tweaking different mixtures and was getting no relief until I tried Menopause Solutions which changed my life! After one dose the hot flashes diminished and I was able to sleep again without the menomares. I was able to drop black cohosh, red clover and passion flower from my arsenal. I get nothing from Menopause Solutions, they are not a sponsor nor even care that they have helped this gal from runnin' naked through the fields. I'm just sayin' when the time comes or the next time ya feel that old power surge running from the top of your head to the tips of your toes ya might want to try Menopause Solutions total system balance instead of fallin' into the "Ring of Fire."

DONT FENCE ME IN

The past three weeks we have experienced wailing that would put any infant nursery to shame. Mothers diligently screaming at their children at the top of their lungs. Ya know, like the ones you see in department stores who just lose it and go berserk . There have been jail breaks like convicts escaping after an unattended Brinks truck. Stampedes like the ones you see in an old John Wayne western flick. Gooshing gooey mud like quicksand sinking this farm chicks barn boots so deep that when Hubby called out, "catch that renegade!" I helplessly replied, "I can't move, I'm stuck !" The Young Guns have been the most difficult bunch of calves to wean on the Ponderosa......ever! I don't know if any of ya'll believe in the sign of the moon thing but when you work with animals or children it can make a believer out of you. Hubby has the habit of checking the sign in the Farmers Almanac after we work, castrate, dehorn or wean the cattle. Three weeks ago after we penned the Young Guns we settled in our comfy chairs for the evening as Hubby pulled out the almanac announcing, "well, we couldn't of picked a worse time to wean 'em." No truer words were ever spoken.

Our nights echoed of loud blaring sounds from mothers with bulging leaky utters calling out to their obvious starving children who would all sing back in vocal unison ," Maaaaaaaaa!" Sweet uninterrupted sleep was not an option not for just a night or two but nights upon nights. During all this we had jail breaks of the occasional starved baby who weighs between 500-700 pounds push through a barbed wire fence and the secondary electric fence just for a nightcap of warm rich milk. Each and every one had to be retrieved during our flood and deep mud. Did I mention the bear? Yep, Smokey took a liking to the liquid feed which has a molasses base that was placed in the weaning pen for extra nutrients. Cattle just love it but to a bear it's like a rich sweet chocolate truffle to a woman with PMS. The act of a bear dining in their territory sparked more than one stampede not only tearing down tight barbed fences but bending steel posts to the ground. Each evening Hubby would arrive from work and I'd don the barn boots and help capture the runaways returning to the house with my fresh washed hair sporting the smell of cow manure. I just want to wash my hair and retain the luscious smell of my Catwalk Fashionista which lingers on my pillow. You know what I'm sayin'?

Last Saturday gave us a much awaited dry day. A day in which we could vaccinate the calves preparing them for pasture. We usually call in the Strongbacks (farm hands) when we full throttle work cattle but we had already castrated the Young Guns so Hubby and I went solo. We have been working together so long we have this vaccinating thing down to a rock and roll science. I had totally forgotten about the large bull calf who had been saved for a nearby farm. The farm that had backed out of the whole deal. The large 700lb bull calf who was now too large to be castrated would need to be banded. We needed a large burly dude with curly chest hair and some tattoos to kink this animals tail up and over its back in the head gate so Hubby could keep all his teeth while banding the calf's treasured family jewels. Nope, there was nobody 'round here to fit that bill so I became the chosen one. The one who slipped thicker leather gloves on her dedicate tiny hands. The one who reached up and over the head gate not really having enough leverage to do the job. The one who said, "I will NOT reach between the bars to grab the animal!" (Reaching to grab said large hysterical ballistic animal between two steel bars=broken arm, duh!) The one who filled the farm air with her high pitched tones announcing to God, Hubby and bordering farms, "I don't have enough testosterone to do this...I NEED MORE TESTOSTERONE!" The one who did it anyway and gott'er done.

Finally the Young Guns have settled. They have been roaming between the corral and holding lot enjoying their feed , sipping on fresh cool well water, snacking on hay and chewin' their cud. After three long weeks of weaning they are ready to be moved to wider greener pastures where they can roam and await the move to the lush winter wheat pasture. I look forward to silent nights, fresh washed hair and smelling like Cinnabar verses the calf pen. Soon and very soon the Young Guns will be moved and will not be singing that old familiar song, "Don't Fence Me In!"

*If you'd like to read more about the Young Guns see "Daddy Sang Base Mama Sang Tenor " July 28 under Ponderosa

YIPPIE TIE YIE YAY- COWPATTY!

It is not the stuff dream-filled sandcastles are make of. Rich warm squishy mud oozing between the toes of a barefooted child cannot compare to its sculpting constructional texture. It is the medium Michelangelo,Picasso or Bastlitz would have preferred if they had grown up on a farm seven miles away from civilization or playmates.

I loved playing outside on warm humid summer days with John my imaginary girlfriend (yes, John was a girl) and my little toy fox terrier, Tiny. My mother was most patient as she lovely set an extra plate at the table for John, helped her into her red coat with the big black buttons or calmed down hysterical visitors frightened by my vivid imagination. What's a girl to do if a friendly visitor steps right on your BFF? Poor trembling neighbor! I was carted off the the doctor shortly after that episode to see if I was in my right mind. John and I had a great time together but the best memory was one afternoon spent in the shade of the old maple tree that overshadowed our backyard. John rested in the shade as I sought fresh cow manure filling my little purple plastic bucket. Working in just enough dirt with my red shovel to improve the almost perfect texture, I remember thinking this is going to be the best! I'm going to make my daddy a surprise birthday pie. Not even close to his birthday this would really be an awesome treat. The birthday pie would be placed upon a broken mudflap platter, adorned with rock decorations and stick candles. A creation any little farm chick would be proud of!

As daddy pulled up driving the big black cattle truck, John and I ran toward him full of excitement carrying our prized creation. In my loudest voice I proudly announced , "Daddy look what we've made for you!" He snatched that old mudflap from my dirty stinkin' little hands faster than a five year old could blink as his surprise birthday pie went flying through the summer sky. Devastated my heart leaped into my throat as he yelled," get this kid out of the @&#%$* cow manure!" Daddy did not share Mamas compassion and enthusiasm for John or beautifully creative birthday pies.

Today I can still be found roving green pastures for dried cow patties to enrich my roses and fertilize my hungry flower gardens taking me back to a younger time on a hot summer day when my daddy did not appreciate my cowpatty surprise!!!

GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN

Gatherings with our family are usually a riot. I'm not talking the ha-ha this is so funny it's a riot type thing. The fact is when our gentle loving clan get together it often means guns and explosives....or both! Is it not normal for all the men folk to pull out their prized weapons after the traditional Thanksgiving dinner stuffing their bellies tighter than the turkeys and prove their marksmanship to the other alpha males of the family? Let me tell you the Fourth of July is a real blast. Since we live on the Ponderosa in the middle of Ozarks, anything goes. Our pyrotechnical kin go hog wild seeing who can tie the most explosives together and live to brag about it. I'm still lookin' for the neighbor who called the sheriffs bomb squad!

Weddings are not immune to such behavior. This farm chick is always quite interested in whatever unusual grand event might take place at a wedding of a niece or nephew as soon as the announcement arrives. I have had a nephew and his beautiful bride carted off in a hot air balloon for their nuptials. Once everyone in the wedding party wore flip-flops. We have had camouflaged weddings, comical ceremonies filled with quirky songs and antics from the bride and groom that had me rollin' with laughter. The fish fry reception was something I had never ever witnessed. When I opened the announcement of the latest invitation I was enthralled with the question, so.... what's next?

I was ecstatically happy when my two youngest granddaughters were asked to be the flower girls. Something the oldest of the two had dreamed of and longed for her whole life. When asked she told the bride, "well, I'd love to but I don't have a dress!" When the bride assured the little fashionistas she had dresses for them and would not have to toss the petals in something they'd already worn, there was an instant 'yes' from both sweeties. The flower girls did a marvelous job. Truly they did....really..... nope....not any grandma braggin' here. They were the perfect flower girls. Goldilocks (who I call Mini-Me) pulled me down in the receiving line and said with great excitement, "Grandma, I can't believe I am really, truly, actually a flower girl!!!" Dreams really do come true, especially when your five goin' on six.

The only hitch in the wedding was the hitchin' that took place when the pastor pronounce the bride and groom, "man and wife." There were no guns, horses, bubblin' grease or explosives. DARN! The beautifully normal wedding was followed by cascades of bubbles leading to a lovely reception. The flower children were really into blowin' bubbles and the chocolate fountain was a major hit! Especially with the youngest of the two. The happy bride and groom whisked away to begin their new life together but they weren't the only ones who had their dreams granted that day. Two little flower girls had the time of their lives and we all know that "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!"

BABY I'M A WANT YOU

Heartstrings tugging to the depths of my irradissant tiny coral toenails. That faraway yearning look in my big brown batty eyes. My achy arms craving soft pure squishy rolls of skin cradled within them. Hearing the forlorn longing noted in my deep sexy voice. ( OK, so I'm stretching it a bit here with the deep sexy voice thing but a girl can dream can't she?) These are the things Hubby picks up on when he realizes that I am experiencing Grandmother withdrawal symptoms again. He knows this farm chick all too well. Reading me like a book he asked if I would like to make the trip to see baby Ian sometime during the weekend for a grandma fix. Well duh......that's a no-brainer!

It had been a very long four weeks since I had kissed those well fed pudgy cheeks and planted one of my very special grandma kisses on them. In baby years that is like....HALF of his little life!!! I was so afraid he would not remember me, my smell and my voice. I feared Ian would take one look at me and scream like he had been visited by the boogie man. I anticipated reacquainting myself having another meet and greet session with the little lad.

Much to my delight as soon as I picked the brilliant baby boy up he rolled his eyes to one side as if he were pulling my voice from his memory catalog then looked me straight in the eye flashing a big full face smile. I melted right on the spot. But wait! He didn't stop there! He cooed, babbled and grinned some more telling me in his baby dialect how very excited he was to see us. He did exactly the same thing with Gramps. After getting my fix and kissing that sweet round face we began the trip home. Even though I am not able visit every time I get an urge I want him to know how special he is and that "Baby I'm A Want You!"

UNDERDOG

A brave guard dog who always displays protective courage. One who charges at danger with the speed of lighting and roar of thunder. A fighting canine who will chase away those who rob and plunder. A dog who makes any frail farm chick feel warm and all fuzzily safe just known' her trusty companion is near. These traits may describe Underdog but Tiger the Wonder Dog....... they are NOT!

Several years ago shortly after our beloved Scampy passed of old age a tiny stray showed up timidly cowering under the cottage gardens' walkway. I wanted to find another home for this scraggly hungry pup and pick out a 'real' dog but Hubby had other ideas. I can still hear his words, "ya need a dog for protection when I am out on the truck." Yes, I had to agree. I spent much time alone with me, myself and I. We enjoyed each others company while Hubby was away. I did need a good aggressive watch dog. Hubby went on to state what a good cow dog this puppy would make. I was used to Scampy who would stand between me and the stranger who stopped by. Scampy who always barked when someone drove in or walked toward my door. Scampy who we could judge our daughters young courtiers by. She had bit through cowboy boots and even chewed at the tires of their pick-up trucks if she didn't trust the young gents with our sweet girl. Oh, that dog was a marvelous judge of character! Scampy often singed her mouth and fur saving us from our blazing fireworks by grabbing the lit explosive and running through the field with it to prevent her family from harm. Finally, I surrendered naming the little stray Tiger in hopes he would live up to his boldly ferocious name.

Tiger grew up morphing into a fine looking dog. He looks very strong and mighty. He looks like he would be the territorial protector of his home and family. Well folks, let me tell ya...looks could not be more deceiving. It's quite embarrassing to admit how very wimpy this dog is. Tiger is not a cow dog, so not a worker of the cattle. In fact he chases them along with cars. He rarely barks when we have someone come but we can always count on him barking as they leave. If a stray dog visits you can find Tiger shaking like a paint mixer under the car watching the visitor devour his kibbles. Wildlife in our yard is not chased away by our brave pup as he chooses to let them dine also. We have everything from armadillos to cougars and bears 'round these parts. In the mix of all these critters trembles Tiger the Wonder Dog.

I must brag a little. May I? I'm throwing out my chest poppin' my buttons here. Enjoy this, bragging rarely happens when it comes to my beloved pet. There was one time last summer when I was going to burn trash Tiger showed his one and only burst of boldness. As I opened the gate to walk to the trash barrel, Tiger bolted by me with mighty speed almost knocking this chick off her feet. He boldly streaked past me around the barrel gabbing a raccoon who was obviously ill by the neck carrying it away from me. Tiger made sure the 'coon was demised before he returned for praise and a pat on the head. The sick raccoon probably was rabid. Uncharacteristically he saved me that warm summer day. One bout of bravery our Tiger the Wonder Dog has on his resume but no one will ever mistake him for the fearless "Underdog!"

HELLO DOLLY

I'm encouraging Hubby to develop a relationship with her. She is strong, so much stronger than this farm chick who finds herself yelling 'testosterone' at the top of her lungs when trying to muster up enough strength to do something I probably have no business attempting. Dolly is long and lean with firm legs strong and steel like. She can lift many times her weight. I've begged Hubby to take her out for a spin 'cause she can waltz across the dance floor like she's floating on air. What red blooded man would not love spending time with Dolly? Yet he resists strongly, beg as I may.

Today is my favorite day of the week. The day I get to snoop out every dust bunny. The day I dissassemble the faucets and wash out those germy filter screens. Do ya'll realize how much moldy bacteria and fungi gather in those things? The day I clean the furnace filter, bathtub jets and yes I even disinfect our toothbrushes. I live for Deep Clean Friday delighting every moment of it. I would rather vacuum than shop. Nothing makes me quite as ecstatic as to sit back in the knowledge everything is in spotless order.

Hubby will be working very diligently at his job. He is strong,a very robust strong fella'. Of course he has the advantage of testosterone oozing out his pores allowing bulk and power. When he runs the dairy supply routes he carries twenty-five, fifty, hundred pound barrels of supplies that are used during and after the milking process. His daddy said once before he joined the angel band ,"man, the boy is strong as an ox." The strength is still there but let's face it folks, the man ain't twenty anymore. ( Shhhh, don't tell him , we'll just let him live in La-La Land a little longer.) Hubby's joints are 57 years old, they can forecast a storm front faster than Doppler radar. The elbows, shoulders and neck ache after a day of lifting. I beg him to use a dolly. What's the harm in a little assistance?

As I bask in the glory of a spotless Ponderosa home tonight, Hubby will come in tired sporting aches and pains. Again, I will push this relationship upon him suggesting that he simply say, "Hello Dolly!"

IT"S MY PARTY

It was a warm September Saturday back in 1952 a time when the weekly trip to town was a social event. The gents would gather at the local feed store, filling station or barber shop to cut the fat as the women sold the weeks production of eggs to purchase staples for the home. The egg sales would cover groceries, cleaning supplies and leave enough moola to indulge ones-self in material for a new ensemble and craved treat. A treat such a pound of hot roasted peanuts sending out their enticing aroma from the local Ben Franklin Store. Oh, those goober peas were calling Mama that day so she left the store nine months pregnant with a pound of peanuts in hand.

Daddy had some business to take care of on the way back to the farm which left Mama in the car with a intoxicating bag of peanuts. As ya'll know men can actually out chat women any day of the week taking longer than football minutes. Mama enjoyed her pound of peanuts and a good read in the local paper as she waited for Daddy to finish his business. Soon after arriving home the tummy cramps and hiccups began and progressively got worse. "Oh, if I could only go the the bathroom."she uttered over and over again. "Eating all those peanuts constipated me and I'll be fine as soon as I go to the bathroom," she called from the outhouse. Out of sheer panic and desperation Daddy fetched Granny from a nearby farm. It didn't take long for Granny to recognize that Mama was in the full throttles labor and ordered them to the nearest hospital 'cause Mamas hiccups and 'cramps' weren't getting any better.

Fourteen hours of labor and hiccups at 6:00 am a 6lb.2oz, 22 inch long baby girl with the lungs of an opera singer was born. The nurses kicked me out of the nursery strait to my mothers arms because I was disturbing not only the other babes but the hospital staff. The labor Mama has forgiven me for but she will never, never let me live down the fourteen hours of hiccups she endured during the process. The first words Daddy spoke as he looked at his perfectly sweet precious baby daughter was "well, would ya lookey there she's a real farmer....she's already milkin' and spreadin' manure!" For many years Daddy called me his "Little Peanut" in honor of the peanutty snack and the hiccups. Born a farm chick this day fifty-seven years ago I could choose to cry if I wanted to but I choose to be happy and dance the dance of joy because.... "It's My Party!!!"