FUN FUN FUN

 

Exceptionally sinful sumptuous milk, dark and white creamy chocolate snuggled around tantalizing nuts and fruits inspiring your taste-buds and indulging your senses. It was this bag of Brookside Chocolate Covered Fruit & Nut mix that sent this Ozarks farm chick right into a food orgasm. Oh mama, I've died and won the mother load here. The decorated snowmen envelope arriving from Canada enclosed the award winning now empty bag of decadent morsels,(sorry sometimes a gal just can't help herself), an insightful Christmas update letter, two lovely embroidered dishcloths, a colorful package of cocktail napkins and a vintage style Christmas card from Sandy herself. Did I mention the drool invokin' yummy chocolate??? Yep, this farm chick has been one lucky lady. I won! I won Sandy's great giveaway!!

Sandy, aka Doris the Great is a wacky fun lovin' lady who can be found at Aging Disgracefully. She has a wonderful blog where you can learn about her professed admiration of quality chocolate. She shares my OCFD (Obsessive Compulsive Flower Disorder)and my intense hatred of pantyhose. This little gal loves the oldies, bargain hunting and currently holds the title of 'The Queen of Thrift.' Her heart is massively large. She opened her home to not one but two exchange students from two separate countries this school year. Santa's Little Helper even invited working strangers stranded in Canada to her Christmas dinner adding even more variety to her International Christmas. She is a woman that loves God and I'm sure He has a very soft spot in His heart for her.

This Ozarks chick has never had the opportunity to meet Doris the Great but God may never allow this to happen. I have a feelin' if we ever got together we would be a forcefully dangerous duo and the world might never recover. Let's just say if we borrowed father's Ford T-Bird we're probably not goin' to the library. Like the Beach Boys sang in 1964 we'd be out there havin' some "FUN FUN FUN!

THANKS SANDY!!!

DECK THE HALLS

The stockings are hung by the chimney with care, Frosty and his gang are tucked in warm cozy corners for a long winters nap and this Ozarks farm chick can be found standin' under the mistletoe to swipe a sweet smooch from Santa baby! The fudge and other goodies are piled as high as the big rock candy mountain and the kitchen is filled with the aromas of baked goods seeping from the oven . Oh baby, country roads take me home we've got a country Christmas goin' on at the Ponderosa.

The hours of decorating, wrapping, stirrin' have paid off. Catching up on the eleven days I was running behind are now behind me as you could hear me singing my newest theme song of 'get~er~done.' I see the light! I won't even tell ya'll what my foot looked like after I accidentally knocked the hammer off the mantel or how badly I hurt when my wheel-barrel collapsed taking me down faster than a quarterback after the ball. Poor Mambo, the cat thought I was rollin' around on the ground just for his entertainment. Cats are like that, ya know. Did I ever tell ya'll I'm just a tad bit accident prone?

Close your eyes, inhale...exhale. {{Breathe}} Christmastime is here and this chick is ready for it. I'm ready for the grand-kids to reenact the first Christmas where the Wisemen brought gold frankincense and fudge to baby Jesus. Ya had to be there it was just too cute. So ready for Hubby to gather the clan to read the first Christmas story from his big old rugged looking Bible. I'm ready to thank God for sending his precious Son just because He loves us so much. I am ready to enjoy a silent night and remember why we push ourselves to the max. This chick is ready to thank Our Father for the many blessings He has poured upon us. I want to wish everyone a wonderful Christmastime with your loved ones and that you too remember the reason for the season. May God bless you all as you celebrate together and "Deck The Halls" with the love of Jesus!

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!!!

VACATION

Steamy heated ocean breezes, the feel of pure sun toasted sand squishing between all ten of my tiny little tooties. I could surly squeeze in at least one warm December afternoon lying on the beach where the temps rarely fall below eighty. Yep,this Ozarks farm chick was leaving the cold Ponderosa's snowy forecast behind and headed to the tropical tip of Texas. My parents abide in Brownsville but that's just a hop, skip and jump over to 'The Island'. Ahaaah! South Padre Island is bordered by the Gulf of Mexico and Laguna Madre Bay. A place where Hubby and I love to escape for a late evenings stroll along the beach and take in the breathtaking sunset. The Island paradise where one can go horseback-riding against the oceans fine mist or grab a boat off the jetties to watch the dolphins dance on the water. South Padre is an excellent spot for a fella' who loves to fish but para-sailing, jet skis, dune buggies or hand gliding are available for the more adventurous lot. Yep, right after feedin' the masses Thanksgiving Day we packed up shorts,sleeveless ware and my 'kini and headed south to a warmer land. I laid it on as thick a a triple cheeseburger that we here headed to a place where the snow won't blow. This chick was commin' back to the Ponderosa toned and tanned!

I can hear the words of my Granny Walden echoing 'round my eardrums, "now, that'll learn ya!!!" Well shut my mouth 'cause I am now eating a bowl full of my boastful words with a big old spoon. Have ya ever heard of Red Tide? Caused by the Karenia Brevis organism, it develops a toxic algeal bloom that can plague shores causing breathing problems, burning eyes and skin irritations. Padre had issued a Red Tide Warning. We had messed with the stuff a few years earlier and developed sores on our legs that rivaled the Egyptian boils. Besides, thousands of dead fish of all sizes had washed ashore killed by the crimson tide left the ocean air less than desirable. Nope, not goin' there, wouldn't be prudent.

The temperatures dropped like a pair of loose uppers eating a caramel apple the day after we arrived never rising above the forties. Did ya hear me???? I said... the highs did not get out of the forties. Did I mention the rain? Tons of rain! Now in Brownsville any cold or rain is normally in and out in less than twenty~four hours but this stuff stuck around the whole trip following us around like a crazed stalker. It was a cold nasty windy winter rain and this chick knows winter when she feels it! The unkind weather beckoned one's heavy red wool winter coat with the hood up. The one left hanging in my coat closet. I had a full beach bag packed that never saw the light of day. I had a supply of CK shorts and cute little shirts to top them off. There was plenty of tanning lotion, swim-shoes and ponytail ties but I did NOT pack for a winter storm in south Texas!!!

Time is always an issue on these trips to visit my parents. As the rest of us,they aren't gettin' any younger and we try to cram as many of their needs as we can into five short days. Dad served on the Sandia Army Base in Albuquerque where the Home of the National Nuclear Security Administration Laboratory is located. In the fifties many nuclear tests were performed such as the testing of the A-bomb. Dad, as many who served during this time, developed a rare form of leukemia that he's battled for well over twenty years. The man's a true survivor who has beaten the odds again and again amazing not only us but his staff of doctors. We just laugh and call him Timex, ya know takes a lick and keeps on tickin'. Mom has had hip surgery and had cataract surgery just before our arrival. Hubby went with Dad and did man stuff like patchin' on the hurricane tattered roof, putting together his table saw stand and helping him set up a debit card. I went with Mom taking her shopping, gettin' her glasses and taking care of other girlie needs. Don't get me wrong, these are things we desire to do while we are there and have the chance.

My Sis, who lives in Brownsville and works on the Island, was not given a day off my whole visit. I was looking forward to some intense sista' time with her but the moments were few. My Mom, Aunt and I enjoyed a lunch at her workplace just to squeeze a little glimpse of her. The big bad evil boss-lady let her off for two days the day I left...go figure!

The night before we left Hubby and I decided we needed to spend a little quality together. It had been rare this trip so planned our date night. Betcha' ya'll are excited for me right now. First we made a trip to a local Mexican grocery store, El Global, to find Mexican Vanilla and true authentic hot sauces to bring home. After that big adventure we headed to Bennigans to split a burger. That's it, but we were together and we had fun. Really, I'm entertained quite easily. The following morning before the sun rose, we hopped in our well heated car and made the 1145 mile excursion back to the Ponderosa. Driving onto the carport I gazed deeply into Hubby's big browns and announced, "I need a vacation!" I hit the ground running and exhausted but I'd lost days in my Christmas preparation that had to be made up.

Yes, in July of 1962 Connie Francis sang her hit song that entered the Billboard Hot 100 ,V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N, adorned with words like, "the weather's warm but were playing it cool" or "we're on v-a-see-a-t-i-o-n, we're gonna have a ball." I know some weekend after the first of the year Hubby will whisk me away to a warm themed hotel room in Branson and this old tired farm chick will have a real "Vacation!!!"

HONEY

Woohoo!!! A box of beautiful sweet treats were awaiting me when I arrived home from Texas. I was way past exhaustion but due to circumstances still I had to hit the ground running but thanks to sweet Mary at (theprovidentwoman) I feel like a pampered woman. Ya see, I'm dancin' my excited little happy dance 'cause I won...I won....Yippee! It usually doesn't take much to excite this Ozarks farm chick but let me tell you this stuff is great enough to call in the cows and pump molasses into their hay.

My prized box was filled with goodies of simplynaturalhoney products by Naturalhoney from Riley Country. I got a 6oz squeezable honey-bear. Now I've always had a soft spot for honey-bears but this one will be standin' on his pointed little head over homemade hot rolls tonight. A lotion bar, yep ya'll heard me right. I thought it was soap at first glance but it's a bar consisting of Shea butter and coconut oil that melts like butter into your skin leaving it soft and protected from the harsh elements. Heaven knows my abused hands need all the help they can get 'cause I'm always cleaning something! The lip balm is made with beeswax and sweet almond oil. 'Just makes a girl stand on her toes, pucker up and beckon Hubby to kiss her quick. My box unexpectedly contained a little glass bonus jar of honey not mentioned in the giveaway. Mmmmmmm, I'm thinkin' fresh hot homemade Southern Gal biscuits slathered with sweet gooey bee juice here. Let me tell you, I licked a sample off my sticky little fingers and it was good enough to grab a spoon. The last items were the straws that I'm just a little embarrassed about. Since I live a very secluded sheltered life on the Ponderosa leaving me clueless about more things than this chicks comfortable to admit, I wasn't sure whether to add the colorful straws to my bath and lather up or eat the things like Pixie Sticks. Now ya have to understand I debated this 'sticky' situation in my blonde little head for several days. Weighing my options carefully, I snipped the top off a straw this morn' and carefully sucked in a little taste. Since I didn't come up spitin' or bubblin' I consumed the whole straw. Heck, it was to tasty I grabbed another and downed it too! Mary please~please tell me these honey straws are the tasty treats I think they are.

Mary has a beautifully delightful blog so please pop over for a visit, you'll be glad you did. I tried to take a self portrait of myself surrounded by my goodies but my arms weren't long enough to get everything in the pic. Pardon the hair, I was out in the rainy elements all day running around like a mad woman. I also found that taking a pic of yourself is harder than gettin' a donkey to kneel on cold ground. Thank you so much Mary, I will enjoy! Tasty honey sweet and pure as Bobby Goldsburo sang in his tenth album in 1968, " Honey I love you!!!"

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 disassemble 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!!!"

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST

UGH! Sulfuric acid propelled from glands using strong muscle tissue that spew oily fine yellow droplets up to fifteen feet with a musk odor that lingers for days. Gagging and gasping for breath, the penetrating stench can cause temporary blindness and nausea creating a fragrance so undesirable that even the La'Pews cannot bear it. The predatordeterrent substance is next to impossible to wash off. In a nutshell it STINKS....STINKS with strength and passion.

Did ya'll know there are four different varieties of skunk? The spotted and striped polecats live everywhere in the United States. The hooded and hog-nosed skunks prefer a sunny warm vacation type climate found in Arizona, Texas and New Mexico. The Ponderosa is blessed with the stripped varmints who have litters in May and June consisting of 3-10 kittens. Did your catch that? I repeat, there could be a family of twelve scent bombs thriving under my not so mulberry essence flavored home. As you know from previous posts, we are desperate people and desperate measures must be taken.

I believe I said this farm chick was not stupid or adventurous enough to set a live trap. Ya know how 'they' always say never say never or you will eat your words. Well grab me up a fork and spoon 'cause I'm chewin' on those words now! We sat an older live trap with a L-o-N-g rope tied to it and night one had a big old mama size stinker caught by 11:00pm. Hubby ran out in lounge shorts, boots with shotgun and mag-light in hand. As he was dragging the critter away from the house the trap turned over and let she-skunk go. I heard shots but have you ever tried to shoot a speeding skunk in the dark? Plan spoiled as the plot thickens.

Next evening Hubby brought a costly new fangled foolproof live trap. By bedtime we had a famished teenage female trapped. Grabbing the 22 Hubby got the shot this round but not without shootin' a small hole in our costly new fangled foolproof trap. Heaven knows we don't want to shoot our new prized possession full of holes so a new plan is formed. Saturday morning before a family wedding we had another teen captured where the new and improved plan was implemented. Drag jailed La'Pew away from the house and cover the cage with a tarp so it can be picked up for the baptismal. Hubby carried the tarp covering himself to shield his hunky bod from anything the skunk may want to share.(Oh, please dear God let me go to this wedding smelling like Cinnabar) It was a pure guessing game for Hubby when dropping the tarp in just the right spot to cover the cage. He loaded the prize up and off to the pond they went. Hubby ordained himself and baptized the stinkin' sinner. At present time the score is Ponderosa 3.....La'Pews.....???

This chick is ready for this saga in her life to end. Did ya realize they use the pelts of skunks to make fur coats? Yep, they call 'em Alaskan Sables. We have to make sure all our tenants are eradicated before sealing the hole they have dug under the trap door but if you spot a temporary blind Ozarks farm chick gulping Pepto-Bismol showing off her new fancy Alaskan Sable you'll know, "Another One Bites the Dust!"

I WILL FIND YOU

Where's Hubby......can you find him???

What a blessed morning I have experienced on the Ponderosa. Arising at dark-thirty a.m. to meet the dust bunnies and lime scale this cleanin' crazed farm chick donned the rubber gloves raring to beat the dirt this excitedly anticipated Deep Clean Friday. I know, I know, "cleanliness is next to godliness," is not found in the Good Book but it should be! The house is clean enough for the Almighty himself to eat off the floor. Not that I would every toss a meal on the floor along with a fork and tell ANYONE to go for it. The throne is sparkling enough for royalty to relax and sit a spell. I admit I need help. I look at my vac the way most women look at the beefcakes on some hunky fireman calendar. Clean makes me happy, I thrive on order. I need to know everything is in its place. But where in Gods green earth is my hubby?

A year ago when we didn't know beans about beans we planted half the bottom land in soybeans. Native to East Asia 5,000 years ago they used the beans as a major food source. According to Ancient Chinese history, in 2853BC the Emperor Shennog proclaimed soybeans were sacred. An excellent protein source, these familiar legumes have been grown for thousands of years as food for millions around the earth sporting many health benefits such as reducing cholesterol due to being high in phytoestrogens which also help menopausal women. FLASH....we 'hot' chicks need all the help we can get. Soybeans have also been used as a feed ingredient for our livestock industry. The complex structure of the plant provides building blocks allowing the production of hundreds of products that ya'll probably never thought might be made of the little green bean.

Things ya use every bloomin' day are made from the greater bean. Take a bath? Oh please let me hear your answering "YES". You have beans in your bath soap, shampoo, hair conditioner, hand cleaners and the candle you are burning by your relaxing bubble bath. Do laundry? Again I prayin' I'm hearing those affirmations out there. We all know mama told you,"we don't put dirty duds on a clean body." You are using beans to pretreat, wash and soften your laundry. Have furniture? Sure hope your not decoratin' with egg crates and pallets to embellish your French Chicken coop style. Yep, tables, chairs and all sorts of furniture are made of beans even the wax and cleaners to keep it beautiful....beans. Everywhere we turn from that box of crayons to fuel additives have been invaded by soybeans. But wait, have ya'll forgotten about Hubby???

He is the first blind date I every went on. That date that has lasted more than 38 years and the sparks are still flyin'. The hardest working man I have ever seen holds a job off the Ponderosa so we can afford to love the land. A job that consists of a liquid feed salesman, dairy truck route, semi-truck grain driver or anything else the boss-man may ask of him. 'Very multi talented this one is. He's the farm boy I still have moon eyes for and still get tingly when he takes my hand. The one I said yes to for this journey we call life. Where's Hubby??? Answer:In this years soybean field. He is the man OUT STANDING in his field! If I really could not find him as Clanned sang in 2004 in the movie "Last of the Mohicans", no matter where you go, I will find you. If it takes a thousand years, I WILL FIND YOU!!!

MEMORIES

 

Memory is the mental faculty of retaining and recalling past experiences. The saved mental impressions that are embedded in our gray matter filed away like important documents tucked into a file cabinet. Just like the 1980 Andrew Lloyd Weber pop song compares memories "as a light comes from my mind", my flash ram recalls the yearning essence of new baby smell once again. It had been three long weeks since I had held little Ian in my arms and inhaled that calming delicious smell from his sweet perfectly round baby head. That's like eonic ages in Grandma years. Hubby started to note symptoms of grand-baby withdrawal once again and offered a trip to Ash Grove to get my fix. Did I ever mention that this man is too good to me? No need to ask this chick twice so last Sunday we jumped in the car after church services and made the jaunt.

I am the first to admit I can be compulsively crazed in some areas but when it comes to this new baby smell thing I have really not gone off the deep end. I'm not talkin' odors from spit-up, poop or anything else that oozes from their orifices, this is something totally different. I did a little research on 'new baby smell' and found studies on the subject. The sense of smell is the strongest memory trigger we mortals possess. It is critical of existence of all creatures for finding nourishment, avoiding predators and choosing that special someone to share our lifelong obsessions with. The chemical sensing system has many scientific life uses. A Sweden team of scientist uncovered the distinct new baby smell may act as a pheromone to reinforce the sensation that babies ARE cute and adorable. Yeah, like we need a reminder...right! Another study showed the unique smell played an important part in the bonding process between babes and their caretakers. Yes, Virginia, there is a 'new baby smell!' It may be completely indescribable but it exists.

Reaching our destination,this rockin' grandma excitedly entered the house with olfactories engaged charging toward the little bundle of love. I sniffed and inhaled cuddly Ian noting various baby smells exuding from him. Scents like the pure cleanliness of fresh clothes, new diaper and calming lotion. I deeply inhaled to the depths of my lungs.....nothing.....GONE! Gone like the fragrance of a rose as the petals wither on the ground. Gone like the weeks I spent missing this babe. He was of course seven weeks old and changing everyday. I enjoyed my visit taking in every stimuli during the time I had to spend. I was blessed to change him, feed him and give him the very special noisy grandma kisses I reserve only for grandchildren. I am looking forward to all the wonderful experiences I will have with this little one but as far a the new baby smells go, they will forever be filed away in my "Memories."

BUTTERFLIES ARE FREE

Like the Goldie Hawn movie that inspired the 1969 song by Edward Albert, "Butterflies Are Free," butterflies are free wings of freedom. These enchanted flying flowers sport diverse patterns of brightly colored wings displaying erratic yet graceful flight. This black female swallowtail belonging to the order Lepidoptera is indeed free, free to enjoy this Sweet William in my wild flower garden. Freedom, a privilege this farm chick fears may be short termed if organizations like the Humane Society, PETA or the ASPCA get wind of what I have been up to. Not to mention that using mothballs other than the recommended directions is a violation of Federal Laws. I'm jail-bait. Who knew?

The feud between the La'Pews and the Ponderosa household is exhausting. So far PePe and his carnivorous kin are winning. I have drenched the lawn in Dursban eliminating the families food supply of moist juicy grubs. They have out skunked us against the A-5 Automatic Browning 12-gauge Belgian poly choke shotgun. The rabid carrying critter made like Houdini when confronted with the 22-caliber Ithaca lever action rifle. They have enjoyed their dinning experience of the decadent smorgasbord I have set before them consisting of a CyKill appetizer, the newest of morsels designed for anticoagulant resistant rats. I served them a mouthwatering entree' of Diamond dog food kibbles splashed with vegetable oil then coated in Quickrete mortar mix. When I spooned this tasty entree' under the house through a drain hole off the carport I thought I had entered Purgatory hearing growling and gnashing of teeth as I laid out my presentation. Finally, an irresistible dessert of Decon peanut-butter balls was offered which was consumed instantly. The immortal pole cats are thriving on these delicious delicacies and begging for more.

Taking the advice of a sweet blogger I ran a search using mothballs to evict the odorous tenants dwelling under our abode. This was the last straw, so we were off to purchase some eviction balls where we met the friendly clerk who followed us onto the parking lot and to our auto. Sharing advice like, "feed 'em some bar bait, that'll git'em,"... or....are you ready....,"Ya, need to LIVE trap 'em." Yeah right, I'm not that stupid, brave or adventurous. I had very high expectations using this plan so I scattered a box of eviction balls in strategic areas beneath our house as Hubby was showering. Entering the house with my nose burning, eyes watering and the back of my throat raw, I met Hubby commenting on the strength of the smell and how intense his head was throbbing. I think we both agreed that this smell surpassed skunk juice as the top undesirable odor. We could endure if it would evict the smelly little devils. That night I was awaken from midnight to four in the morning by the activity. They obviously enjoyed the fragrance and was having a bash to celebrate.

My lovely home that always reeks of mulberry essence is now emitting a strong mothball scent laced with a touch of skunk juice. The La'Pew family is interfering with this hormonal menopausal farm chicks sleep and we all know ya' don't mess with a menopausal woman especially one who has ammo within reach. Lord I pray if I am incarcerated by animal rights groups or for breaking Federal Laws that I be locked up in a Sandals all inclusive Caribbean prison. I would prefer to be free but if not let it be in a warm tropical setting where "Butterflies are Free!!!"

THE ITSY BITSY SPIDER

Situated on their fine hairy little hinies (settle down girls,I'm not talking Mel Gibson here) are spinnerets which contain several spinning spools that ooze viscid fluid which hardens into fine silken threads. The eight eyed eight legged arachnids extraordinary web has the relative strength ten times that of steel. On this glorious deep clean Friday I had mounds of household chores accomplished by 6:45am. I obviously have not been the only busy little beaver on the Ponderosa.

As the early morning dew settled to the earth, I was greeted by the sight of an amazing spiderweb on the deck overlooking my cottage garden. Intrigued by the masterpiece I was entranced by its novel beauty like an artist is drawn to a fine piece of art. Going totally against my compulsive nature to clean, I walked away from the cobweb, broom in hand to continue the cleaning bonanza going on in the house.

Later in the day I returned to the deck warmed by the afternoon sun to find no sign of the masterpiece or the artist. All things shall pass away. The treasures that truly count are seen in the blessings we share with others. A lesson this farm chick was reminded of by "The Itsy Bitsy Spider."

SQUAWK BOX

NEWSFLASH!!! I am the victim of a stalker. I go in the kitchen and he is there on the deck glaring in my window. I enter my bedroom and eyes are peering back at me. I cannot seem to shake the eerie feeling I am being watched. OK, stop right here, go no further please-please-please until you read April's "Wake Up Maggie" and May's "She Rocks in the Tree Tops" then you may continue. You really need the history lesson. It's Squawk Box. No, not the boom-box that blares golden oldies into my yard. It is one of Maggie's fine feathered triplet fledglings.

Maggie has been with me many years providing entertaining fun and frolics with her vast repertoire but has never introduced me to her youngsters before this year. Two of the fuzzy gray and white down covered babes were skittish and kept their distance but not Squawk. Maggie disappeared for a time as she was in incubation mode but Squawk Box stayed with me. Each time I would open the back door I was welcomed to the gruff immature SQUAWK..SQUAWK..SQUAWKING boasting forth from this juvenile who has not yet come into his voice.

I was swimming the other day relaxing just floatin' to the oldies when Squawk landed on the pool ledge and be-bopped awhile. I was trimming hedges and I heard the grandest commotion racing through the front lawn, again it was the low flying bomber Squawk nipping at Rockey the squirrels tail. 'Chased poor Rockey right up the big old elm tree shivering in his timbers. Squawk Box,the image of his mother, will land on any object nearest me while I play landscaper.

I know someday as the voice matures on this gregarious fowl I will zip out the back door and instead of the varied prolong succession of notes that are suppose to be a melodious mockery of other birds I will hear a Motown melody and instantly know it's my newest friend Squawk Box.

THOSE LAZY HAZY CRAZY DAYS OF SUMMER

As the season rinds down all of Gods creatures are enjoying every last intense ray of sunshine, picnics by the river, dips in the pool and the sweet luscious savoring of the last bite of watermelon. I had to share this picture of Chalky (Chocolate Drop), one of many donkeys who dwell on the Ponderosa, gettin' into his summer melon. He finds the cool juicy treat as delicious as this farm chick knowing that, "Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer", are soon to end. How are you going to enjoy this glorious summer day???

OH WHAT A NIGHT

Up at the crack of dawn armed with cleaning supplies this chick was a woman on a mission. This is deep clean Friday. Ya'll know how much I anticipate this day. Every corner of the house is dustless, carpets dirt-less, floors gleaming and everything that can be disinfected is void of germs. The laundry is washed, folded and hung. The dishwasher has cycled through and the dishes are resting at home in the cupboards. Oh, there is nothing quite as exhilarating as the smell of a clean house that reeks of my favored mulberry essence. But wait! There's a stinky putrid stench reaching my olfactories, a proverbial distinctive odor that makes me cry, gag, and want to toss my cookies all at the same time. Yep, it happened last night.

Around dark-thirty Hubby started to lock the french-doors before retiring to the boudoir when I heard, "I've got you now you little rascal!!!" Scantly clad in lounge shorts, he dashed to the utility room to don the barn boots, grab his gun and dart to the carport . A skunk, genus Mephitus of the Mustelidae family who are noted for the excessive development of their anal glands spraying their acrid discharge considerable distances. My job was to keep track of the carnivorous quaduped who had picked a spot to hide under our car. Wearing my Victoria's Secret lounge 'jammies and flippies, I stretched out the french-door lighting bottle rockets under the car at PePe' La Pew who was NOT going to move. Hubby was crouched behind the car aimed for the hunt when Tiger the Wonder Dog , frightened from the fireworks, runs and scoots under the car. Did I say he was the brightest canine in the neighborhood? (I have seen this before only reversed... Wonder Dog sleeping under car...enter skunk) Finally after many bottle rockets and bellows of smoke, Pepe' runs out and around the back of the house. Hubby got a shot in that left La Pew sharing an aroma at our back door (crime scene above) and hiding in a corner behind the storage shed that hosts my rock garden.

Hubby and I trailed after him like a couple of spelunkers with flashlights in hand attempting to corner the pole cat to flush him out. Hubby posed at the back of the storage building armed like the hunky warrior he is. Me? Well, I grabbed the water-hose with the power nozzle to blast the smelly cat like creature toward Hubby. Good plan, right? Think again. Somewhere during all this excitement, Pepe' out skunked us once again escaping to join his family dwelling under our abode. They have been tenants prior to the Fourth of July. Not because we haven't exhausted our resources trying to evict them. Admitting defeat, Hubby and I entered our skunk christened home lighting candles as we ventured in. Yep, it's all spotless as the potpourri pot simmers and the candles flicker. I'm gonna' grab a tall glass of tea and take a long summer break because, "Oh What A Night!!!"

TEN LITTLE INDIANS

Passion, it is the great enthusiasm toward something or someone. It is also interpreted as the sufferings of Christ on the cross. During the taking of sacraments Sunday my mind wandered to communion Sunday last month. We had several young visitors that were not accustomed to church or religious rituals. Being aware of the situation, I explained to the three visitors in my Sunday School class why we partake of communion and what it represents. I then gathered the children for Kids Church, adding another visitor, I went over the whole process again. I also stated that only those who have accepted Jesus should partake. ANY QUESTIONS?...... After a long silence I was feeling pretty confident that I had thoroughly explained everything, I led them upstairs.

We had praise and worship service and the ushers began to pass out the sacraments. My little tribe started throwing questions at me faster than bugs flock to a windshield. I gathered my inquisitive Indians in a campfire huddle on the floor of the sanctuary in front of God and the congregation to answer the questions flying at me like flaming arrows. Questions like, "Is that really blood?' "Will you get drunk when you drink that?" Gotta' love this one. "How did Jesus go to the bathroom on the cross?"...Yep, pretty much cover everything during this pow-wow.

After meet and greet, as pastor calls it ( kids and I call it shake and bake), I took the wild bunch downstairs to Kids Church. This is where I morph into a creature no adult would recognize as the Nezzy they thought they knew. We had a fun time with music, rhythm instruments, bible stories and games. When prayer time came around I had three tender hands lifted to accept Jesus in their hearts. I'm sure the Big Chiefs heart melted as mine did when these little warriors desired to become a part of Gods Village and so glad that God has given me a passion to be a part of it.

YOU ARE SO BEAUTIFUL

Oh, what a beautiful Ozark summer day. The sun is shinning bright as a brand new penny fresh out of Fort Knox. I have been attempting to complete deep-clean Friday without getting pulled outside by distractions like this beauty. Far beyond the sounds from the dishwasher washin', washer vibrating, dryer hummin' and Jaws the Vacuum sucking up everything in it's path is this genus of plants noted for its showy flowers.

This particular giant plant reaches it's 11" tropical blooms to the top of my carport. Waving it's countless paper thin brilliant flowers like a delicate chiffon skirt rippling in the breeze, calling me to throw down my dust-cloth
and soak up this glorious day. A gentleman stopped by the other day passing out literature and exclaimed as he exited his car, "My gosh woman ...what do you feed this hibiscus???

I'm coming. I'm coming to bask in the day and enjoy the sweet fragrance produced by the deep green foliage and splendid blooms of the gardens God has blessed me with. I'm on my way to soak in some rays and dance in the beauty because "You Are So Beautiful" to me!

SHE LOVES YOU

Of the highest rank, splendid, magnificent, superior and unbelievably enjoyable, I now introduce the Fab Four. No, not the bloody Beatles, meet more of my grandchildren. God certainly rewarded us with these mini creatures of exceptional talents and abilities. Yep, each grandchild is gifted beyond description. The Fab Four are the products of my son and beautiful DIL.

Ethan Issac,12 (Ike), is the typical eldest child. A clone of his dad,he is our amazing intellectual thinker. This one has to know how everything ticks and tocks. Don't lay it down around Ike or he'll take it apart,remodel it and put it back together again. This tender hearted fella' is a take charge caring kind'a dude.

Joel Michael,9 (Joelly),is very bright and quite dangerous in a game of chess. This one is a climber. If we ever lose Joel all we do is look up to find him in a tree or up a wall. Yep, you read correctly, he can go straight up a wall with the ease of a spider. He is a magnificent builder and loves to have a good time.

Honor Elisabeth,5 (Hubby calls her Honery. Me??? I call her Mini-Me, scary...isn't it?),would prefer to be called "Princess." She is a primpy premadona who is imaginative, artistic and very creative. This sugar lovin' sweetheart adores her books and enjoys dress-up. She is a terrific sister.

Sarah Grace,3(Gracie)....(Well, just look at her. Don't ya just want eat her up?), is a great helper who loves to participate in everything. She is not, I repeat NOT an animal lover. She uses her words very well. I visited the other day empty handed. OK, so I flunked Grandma School. Sarah asked what I had brought that day as I answered," ME," she replied,"I'd rather have cookies." Too cute!

Each grandchild is a unique gift from God and this rockin' Grandma wants them all know,"SHE LOVES YOU"....yeah...yeah...yeah!!!