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???