LUCK BE A LADY

It's not everyday ya get a two-fer in a great giveaway but this Ozark farm chick sure knows how to rub the old magic lantern. Now, even a blind hog finds an acorn every now and then but this lucky rockin' grandma found the whole dang bushel. Sweet Michelle over at ladyswordandtherose gifted me with this charmin' little summer dress. Michelle is a wife and mommy of three beautiful children. She has an enthralling christian blog about a vast array of life's battles. Don't ya know we all have a few of those smackin' us in the face just trying to tatter our joy? Please, go take a gander, I promise she won't let ya'll down. Thank you Michelle, I'm just beamin' with delight and tickled pink over this darlin' little dress!

Her sweet Royal Highness Princess Mary Poppins' in her dress~up weddin' dress just happens to be just the perfect size to step into the cute summer frock this year. Why her ladyship will be the belle of her Sunday School class. When her royal self outgrows it..................

.............the little twinkle toes of this chubby cheeked Royal Princess Toadstool (Mario Brothers), will step right into this fashionable attire and be the best dressed chicklett of any high pitched squeelin' little girls birthday party.

Yep, I'm as high as country air and happy as a puppy in fresh cut grass. I have been blessed. This is one lucky lady who's been running 'round the old Ponderosa all day beltin out Frank Sinatra's 1965 signature song, "Luck be a Lady!!!"

QUE SERA SERA (Whatever Will Be Will Be)

She can be as delicate as the soft crepe petals on a lovely jeweled Poppy gently swayin' in a soothing breeze or as ferocious as an irritated badger on it's last nerve when it comes to protecting the spawn of her loins. This child-bearer was present at your debut counting all your wiggly chubby pink digits and memorizing every cell of your being. She commands respect simply by walking into a room while indulging and promoting your sometimes ridiculous creativity. This forbearer obtains the capability to make you feel loved despite the most disastrous circumstances. Webster defines a mother as a female parent but this Ozark farm chick knows a mother is so much more!

This song from Alfred Hitchcock's 1956 film "The Man Who Knew Too Much" staring Doris Day and James Stewart becoming sweet Doris' signature tune often filled our home. Mama could be heard singin', "When I was just a little girl I asked my mother, what will I be?" God blessed this chick richly with a special Mom. She cradled and nurtured me when I was ill takin' any pain away with her tender kisses. The woman changed many dirty diapers taggin' me "Stinky Britches!" She would humor me as she sat an extra plate on the table for my imaginary girlfriend and softly smiled when I insisted that she button John's bright red coat. ( Yep, John was a girl, I'm twisted like that!) She is the one that came to my rescue when I had to see if you could really get your toe stuck in the bathtub faucet just like Mary Richards on the Dick Van Dyke Show or the time as a tween I pulled the top drawer from the dresser to smell the sachet I'd placed in my underwear drawer below and got my head stuck. Let me tell ya'll Mama had the patience of a saint 'cause with my curiosity and imagination this little farm chicklett was a handful. She is also the woman who made me want to dig a hole and pull it in behind me never to see the light of day again my Junior year when she innocently walked up behind in front on a group of friends and casually asked, "are you ready to go Stinky Britches???"

"When I have children of my own they ask their mother, what will I be? Will I be handsome, will I be rich? I tell them tenderly...", I can still hear Mom singin' these words. Her face gleamed with joy as she sang to her first grandbaby. Mom was right there to watch over and help ride herd on this little guy. She was the first on the spot to help out when our perfect baby girl was born with an imperfect heart. I was torn between my three year old fella and my sick baby girl who took round the clock care when Mama jumped in to lessen my load. She cheered with a tear in her eye and a song in her heart as both children graduated, married and blessed her with beautiful Great-grandkids. Yep, just as Mama sang, "Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be...the future's not ours, to see..que sera, sera", once again Mama was right.

The picture above is filled with Mothers. Mothers who are bountifully more than just female parents. I see Great-Granny Moon who loved and lived life well over a hundred. I was around ten years old when I was privileged to witness the bonfire of a hundred birthday candles blazin' on her cake. She blew them out herself. My Grandmother Dow who I called "Ma" was just an amazing woman who lost her husband at the age of forty-five and maintained the most positive attitude I've ever known. My own precious Mother who will celebrate her eighty first birthday in August. Me??? Why I'm the skinny little thing with her mouth wide open, no doubt beltin' out a tune just like Doris Day's "Que Sera Sera!"

Thanks Mom....I love you!!! HAPPY MOTHERS DAY

FAITH CAN MOVE A MOUNTAIN

 

Taller than one of Granny Walden's elevated folk tales or a lofty as a menopausal giraffe's migraine headache we all have a mountain in our life. It can as gigantic as the Earths tallest Mount Everest which towers 29,029 feet in the Asian Himalaya mountain range or as challenging as the northern frigid Alaska's Mount McKinley reachin' a massive 20,230 feet extending her snow-capped head above the arctic clouds.

Calamities of life load us down like a miner's pack mule on a narrow rocky path with life's mountains. Ya'll know the kind that rock your world and turn your insides wrong side out. The ringing phone in the middle of the night informing you of a loved one who just joined the angel band. The face of a surgeon when he tells you that your tiny precious baby girl will probably not make it through the night or the next operation. The tone in your veterinarian's voice tellin' you that some strange weed is killing off your prized hog herd. Financial disasters that have your heart weighted down like a chubby prisoner in a striped jumpsuit chained to a ball and shackle. Yep, these are just a few of the many mountains that have been tossed this chick's way but let me tell ya baby, there's victory in them there hills and the weapon of choice is called FAITH!

The Bible tells us in the Gospel of Mathew 17:20, "If you have the faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, move from here to there, and it will move." Now, those of us that are gettin' a little long in tooth might even need some spectacles or a giant sized magnifyin' glass to even spot a little old mustard seed so we're not talkin' a whole boatload of faith here. Today I challenge you to use that faith to move the many mountains Satan throws in your life path. I've been absent, missin' in action and lax in bloggin' lately. I have been movin' my own little mountain with a potato diggin' fork, a tall white plastic bucket,a big yellow wheelbarrow and a whole lotta faith. The week has been productive. The corn crop is in the ground, fertilized and all. We loaded out three forty foot gooseneck trailers of cow calf pairs and I made a dent in my big old dump truck load of hardwood mulch that forms my mulch mountain.

Guy Woods wrote song lyrics in 1952 that stated," faith can move mountains darling you will see, I can move mountains if you have faith in me." Forget the wrenching convulsion of the charlie horses in this Ozarks farm chicks girlie gams. Never mind the throbbin' spasms that spur the pulsating tenderness in my fifty seven year old lumbar, my acre of flower beds will be dressed and the trees circled with wonderful weed preventin' mulch. I'm keepin' the faith baby singin' right along with Nat King Cole 'cause "FAITH CAN MOVE MOUNTAINS!!!"

"YOU'VE GOT TO CRAWL (BEFORE YOU WALK)"

Crawly things can be the "niggets" of unfamiliar spirits that go bump in the blind darkness of night. Other creepy crawly subjects can be made up of things like cantankerous cockroach cooties, slithering slippery slimy snakes, spooky spindly spiders or even the black lace thong on a farm chick's derriere runnin' wild~eyed cattle up and down these hills and hollers but my present favorite crawly thing is my youngest grandson, baby Ian.

During Sunday breakfast a week ago Hubby asked if I'd like to make a trip to Ash Grove after church. Well baby, do frogs eat flies??? Silly boy had to know that question the no-brainer of the century . My answer was," Yep, yes, affirmative, amen most definitely positively I want to go plant my very special noisy grandma kisses on those plump little cheeks. Not lettin' any grass grow under my feet, I started gathering things like a wild woman 'cause it seemed like a coons age since I'd snuggled the little fella up. A lot can change in a month ya know?

After church services and stoppin' in Springfield to split a juicy giant burger at Ruby Tuesday's we headed toward Ash Grove. A girls gotta take nourishment, ya know? Walking into the breezeway there he was in his mama's arms....a smiling bright~eyed bundle of love smackin' the glass in the door with his chubby little digits lettin' grandma know we've been spotted. Ian's two sharp little teeth glimmered through his grins in the sunlight. Oh, it was good to have him back in my arms again with warm cozy snuggles, wide faced smiles and open mouth bird kisses but what was up with Mr. Independent? The kid is on the move showin' off his newest motor skills. Up on all fours the coordination for the full throttle crawl isn't there yet but the little booger can travel doin' the 'worm' faster than a big fat caterpillar bein' chased by a curious hungry cat.

This grandma chick sang, played, kissed, bounced and took pictures gettin' my grandma fix. It was a wonderful day! In 1971 the songwriting team of Holland-Dozier-Holland (HDH) wrote a song sang by 8th Day "You've Got to Crawl (Before You Walk) not long before the group fizzled. This rockin' grandma can be heard belting' out the lyrics loud and clear to baby Ian, "you've got to crawl before you walk back into these arms of mine." Until next time baby.... 'cause "You've Got to Crawl (Before You Walk)!!!

SEALED WITH A KISS

Abominable Snowmen, Yeti, Forodwaith, Yuki Daruma or just plain old Frosty the Snowmen all melt away like a big old triple scoop bowl of Cappuccino Chocolate Chunk ice cream when the toasty spring weather begins warm the frozen earth. A snowman is an anthropomorphic icy sculpture of a human. The first documented snowman was noted by Bob Eckststine in his book titled "Book of Hours" in 1380. The largest snowman ever recorded was in 2008 in Bethel, Maine who towered a grand twenty~two feet, one inch tall. Heck, these cold hearted fellas even celebrate their own holiday on January 18th known as World Day of Snowmen. I've made no bones about my own abomination towards those tiny frozen lace doilies floatin' from the sky or how I loathe the nuisance of feedin' critters and replenishing the woodpile in it's cold repulsive layers. Ya'll get the picture, I dislike snow intensely finding it most unfriendly but even to my surprise, I collect snowmen. I know.......isn't it a shocker?

Yep, this Ozark farm chick has 'em stashed everywhere. They come out before Christmas and hide in the ivy or hang around the fireplace. My little recipe holder snowman enjoys sittin' on my kitchen cabinet. They hang off doorknobs, hunker down in baskets and snuggle on the sofa in the living room. As much as I despise the snow I love all my little snowmen tucked in every nook and cranny of the Ponderosa's homestead.

Today as ya'll know is deep clean Friday. The day I enjoy chasin' those dust bunnies right out the door. The day germs are destroyed and everything shines brightly. Oh baby I've got the cleanin' bug bad but folks it's also Spring. Time to bring out the fresh garden pillows. Time to open the windows and air out the house. Time for the snowmen to be gathered and packed away safely 'till next year. I found myself singin' (I know that's hard for some of your to imagine...heeehehe!) that old 1960's song of Gary Lewis and the Playboys,"Sealed Withe a Kiss." "Though we gotta say goodbye for the Summer," I,m beltin' out as I pack these well rounded gents away thinkin' maybe just maybe as the last snowman is laid to rest and the box is closed it'll be "Sealed With A Kiss!"

HAPPY SPRING EVERYBODY!!!

PLEASE MR. POSTMAN

The word blessing is defined as something promoting or contributing to happiness, well-being, or prosperity. The subject of blessings is incorporated extensively in the Bible. There are three Greek words utilized to translate the word "blessing", a verb, a noun and and an adjective. They each mean "praised," "to call on Gods power" and "fine speaking" sequentially. This farm chick finds blessings come in all sizes and just as many forms. I feel blessed to awaken to the smile on Hubby's face when the sun arises in our Ozark holler beaming over the treetops toppin' the hill. My heart flutters watchin' the bluebirds busily furnishing their nests to raise their broods. Butterflies and flowers excite me and hummingbirds astound my very soul. I find joyous blessings waltzing with the granddaughters and doin' the Irish jig with my grandson. Yep, I did! I am continually blessed with the sweet comforting voice of a good friend but other day I found a blessing in my mailbox of all places!

I received a surprise package from Teresa@Grammy Girlfriend that has heaped my days full of blessings. Just look at all this loot! I'm tellin' ya'll this was like blessings raining from heaven filled with three wonderful CD's. Sheila Walsh's ,"All That Really Matters" worship, Sand Patty's, "Hymns of Faith Songs of Inspiration" and Women of faith, "Extraordinary Faith." Now if that don't make your skirt fly up, nothin' will! I have enjoyed this music so much while working 'round the Ponderosa. I do love beltin' out a good tune!!! I received a beautiful bookmark with scripture that can also be used on a key-chain to hide God's word in you purse. Heeeheehe! But that's not all folks....wait....cards, beautiful cards, just look at 'em! Have ya ever seen anything any cuter? She must of know how much I love to send cards of encouragement. Teresa is on a one woman campaign to revive sendin' snail mail cards to bless those you love.

Teresa is a God lovin' wife of her "one of a kind" hubby, Mama to two gorgeous children and Grammy to Parker, Austin, Jack and Grayson. She loves football, movies and is all about family. She is a colossal Disney fan. I think she's a bit smitten on that Mickey. She also has her Christmas blog, "A Baby Changes Everything, where you can always get the Christmas Countdown and enjoy the song the blog is named after. This Christian sister is on a card givin' giveaway frenzy. I tell ya'll the woman has gone plumb wild! Really visit her blog and enter her card giveaways so you to can be a blessing too. Go....visit....sit down and stay a spell at her beautiful blog but while you there leave her a comment for a chance to win some cards so you too can be a blessing just spreadin' the love. Why before you know it ya'll be singin' The Marvelettes 1961 single hit song askin',"C'mon deliver the letter, the sooner the better", "Please Mr. Postman???

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

Life is a characteristic differentiating between something that has a self-sustaining biological process from those that don't. Biology defines "life" as the state distinguishing inorganic matter from active living growing organisms. This Ozarks farm chick firmly believes that life begins at conception. Be it attained in the heated throws of passion between two moon eyed lovers or the plannin' and breeding of livestock, I believe that life begins the moment the egg and sperm unite and the microscopic cell divides. A youngster raised on a farm never has to question life or how it begins. It is all second nature to them when they hear daddy talkin' about turnnin' the bulls into the cow pasture. Our little punks got to experience the miracle of birth as soon as they could toddle around under our barn boots watchin' mama pig, cow or donkey bring a new baby animal to the Ponderosa. Another subject completing the circle of life that country young'ens learn to accept is....death.

Exactly one week after Dead Dorothy went down she finally succumbed to pneumonia. Hubby and I had high hopes working diligently to save this poor depleted animal. Dorothy did not have to overcome the Wicked Witch of the West but starvation put her in the unstable shape she was in. The sky did not fill with Flyin' Monkeys but she was unable to take nourishment on her own, so we drenched her with needed nutrients twice a day. Winkie Soldiers did not try to keep her captive but immobility took it's toll on her already weakened body. Hubby would put her in a harness standin' her up with the front loader of the tractor for short periods of time prodding her to put weight on her frail legs that couldn't hold her 355 pound body up more than a few seconds at a time. A deadly field of poppies did not put her into a comatose sleep but fluid started filling her lungs. This could of been treatable if the wheezin' bovine was mobile but sadly she was not.

We had little sparks and glimmers of 'Kansas' that gave us encouragement. One morn' Dorothy put up a bit of a fight struggling against the drench bottle. Fight in an animal means it still has spirit and at least a modest amount of strength. She began drinking a little water and eatin' the tiniest bit of feed by mouth! Woohoo, I danced... Ya'll know it doesn't take much! Then she began to rattle just a bit and we knew she would be sayin' goodbye to that yellow brick road. She would never see Kansas or a sale barn again. Friday evening Dorothy gave up the fight and entered that big old Emerald City in the sky. This chick will just have to rest in the fact knowing that we did everything in our power and Dorothy finally made it home "Somewhere Over The Rainbow!!!"

WE'RE OFF TO SEE THE WIZARD!

Meet Dead Dorothy. She arrived on the Ponderosa last week malnourished half starved to death. Her mange ridden coat lacks the luster and thickness of a critter prone to holdin' it's head in a feed bag. She is what we call here in the Ozarks a Swamp Rat. No disrespect to all you lovely wonderful southern ladies I love so much. A Swamp Rat is an animal who has been trucked into our area from states like Louisiana and Mississippi to be auctioned at a local sale barns. Dead Dorthy is suffering from starvation, stress and shipping fever. Movin' cattle from warmer states to cooler states works well in the summer but in the winter months...not so much. "Oh baby, I got 'em cheap," are the words I hear flyin' from proud Hubby's lips.

Hubby is accumulating a band of small cattle to feed out for market. He has enlisted the help of a wing man, The Ring~Master who owns a sale barn. A paper thin emaciated cow and her puny skinny calf were ran into the ring to sell and Hubby bought the pair for a mere $265.oo. What a bargain even though I constantly remind this burnin' hunk of love it's only a bargain if they live. The calf was really too old to be on it's bony mama but I'm thinkin' the ring~master threw it in 'cause he didn't want to get stuck draggin' the deceased critter off. Now if ya have ever been to a sale barn ya know it's an exclusive men's club in it's own rite. These guys have their own verbal language only those who belong to the club understand and a sign language they have no problem nodding and answering 'yep' to. In one of these exchanges Hubby understood that this cow~calf pair was part of a divorce that neither party wanted to feed. The cattle trailer arrived at the Ponderosa unloading the cattle purchased that day and the cow was put in the cow pasture and Dead Dorothy was to flourish in the weanin' pen. Yep, the man always has a plan. He's just that kinda' guy.

The first morning that I went up to water the clan at the weanin' pen where poor Dorothy had her heavy head hanging six inches off the ground. Nope, this is never a good sign in cattle. Ya'll want their heads high and ears up. The next morning this farm chick spotted Dorothy layin' flat on her side with her Twiggy legs stickin straight out like road kill. Her sides were not goin' up and down nor was her tail twitchin'. I hollored as I was banging on the metal panels and saw no movement. The other calves walked over and nudged her poor famished body gettin' no response. Now granted I didn't climb over the corral and poke, prod or nudge her but she was lyin' there lifeless as a virgin on a blind date. I'm a farm gal ~I know dead when I see it! First I called time of death then I called Hubby to announce Dorothy had passed.

Saturday morn' Hubby trots into the house singin'," she lives, she was probably sleeping soundly." Now folks, this calf was more than napping, it had to be in some kind of deep comma trance 'cause there was no sign of breath or a blessed miracle dropped from above and revived her. She was call a code and page Dr. McDreamy gone. Dead Dorothy is unable to eat normally so we are 'drenching' her. We take a contraption with a long tube and fill it with milk replacer and squeeze it down her gullet. Much like a NG tube in a human. She has not stood on her own four legs in a few days. Tonight when Hubby gets home he will take the tractor and lift her onto her legs with the front loader. This could be a Kodak moment except it will be dark and I'd only have the light of the moon and the light of a tractor so it could all be a little too scary to show. Thankfully Dead Dorothy's mama is doin' much better than she is.

I almost fainted when I saw the small vaccine bottle of Draxxin costing $355.oo or the Micotil at $150.00. The small $25.00 bag of milk relpacer was nothin' compared to that. There is an abundance of time and a mint put into a sick animal. Most farmers would just give up the ghost and put the poor animal down but Hubby is a wizard when it comes to doctoring cattle. Both Dorthy and Hubby believe that if she clicks her hooves together three times and recites ,"there's no place like the Ponderosa," Dead Dorothy will be granted a full and happy life runnin' up and down these Ozarks hills and hollers singing, "We're Off To See The Wizard!!!"

CLIMB EV'RY MOUNTAIN

Here we go...it's Deep Clean Friday! This Ozark farm chicks favorite day of the week. It's been awhile since I posted a Deep Clean Friday and I didn't want ya'll to think I'd fallen plumb off the wagon and stopped cleanin' the old Ponderosa homestead. Nope, no living in filth here 'cause I'm Nezzy and I take cleaning eminently serious. The dishwasher's swooshing, washer's gyrating, tub jets whirling and the dryer is tumbling a big batch a dungarees . Anyone dizzy? All nick~knacks are dustless and the carpets vacuumed. The mud room floor is as shinny as a new lustrous copper penny. The dust-bunnies are washed from the furnace filters and those nasty little germy faucet screens are disinfected. Go ahead, turn me into Cleaners Anonymous, schedule me for meetin's and assign me a sponsor but I can't help myself. Cleaning is like my chocolate, it relaxes me, soothes me and makes me happy. We all know what happen if mama ain't happy!

Now let me take ya'll back a few weeks. The week the temperatures barely rose above zero. The week we had the dreaded Ozark's ice and nine inches of snow layin' on top of it. The week we had scheduled to take the Young Guns to market. The Young Guns were gettin' huge and the market was good. The plan was that we would load them on our twenty foot gooseneck trailer hauling them the the Teeny Town Sale Barn to be loaded on a big double-decker pot going to a larger sale barn south of us. This would take three trips with the long necked trailer to accomplish this endeavor 'cause these Fat Alberts were large in number and ahhhhum, a little chubby.

We started a little after seven that morning with the thermometer also sittin' on a whoppin' seven degrees. I had on my yoga leggins, jeans over the leggins, two pair of socks, at tee, a sweatshirt, a stocking hat, a Carhartt hoodie, Carhartt coveralls, gloves inside gloves and my barn boots. Ya'll worried about my undies? Didn't ya know underwear is optional here in the Ozarks? I was set for the task before me except it was still dark as oil on a tire and the cattle were black. Oh, did I mention I'm night blind? Looking like the Michelin Man blindly maneuvering the snow like a blundering klutz, I was a willing help-meet who was ready for action 'cause I had my big old yellow cattle stick in hand. Taking all factors into consideration Hubby and I penned and separated the cattle without the usual mishaps. Woohoo!!! Soon the first load was off and I was back in the house huggin' my warm fireplace.

Less than an hour later, Hubby was back loadin' the second batch of big boys also without calamity. Yippee!!! This was reason to open the freezer to pull out the leftover Christmas fudge and celebrate 'cause things rarely go as planned here on the Ponderosa. Then ten minutes later it happened with the ring of the telephone. I could hear,"..I.... nee...bring...ep.....and...ug....ak." Cell Phones!!! Ten minutes later the phone rings again after Hubby hiked to a house and begged the use a land line, "I need you to bring some ashes, I'm really stuck on top of a hill." Well, I had just cleaned the fireplace and I wasn't about to put blazin' red hot embers in my car. After pondering a suitable substitute for ashes, I grabbed up some Quickrite dry cement along with a couple bags of ice cream salt and headed out patting myself on the back for my resourcefulness. Instead of taking the blacktop roads that were brined and bladed Hubs took the narrow hilly cow trail country road because it was half as far drivin' the back way as it was to take the highway. I set forth to find Hubby discovering the glossy road was as slick as cow snot. Carefully maneuvering skinny twisted ice packed road, I finally reached 'the hill' immediately turning around to go back to the Ponderosa to retrieve a pick. I so wish I had grabbed my camera to capture the discombobulation that Hubby, his truck, gooseneck and Young Guns were in.

The big brown four wheel drive farm truck had slid wedging its helpless self against a mammoth gigantic tree. Good thing 'cause if it hadn't all would have descended and plummeted over the ledge and down the tall bluff. The gooseneck carrying the cattle had jackknifed just a bit completely blockin' the road. Hubby chipped the ice with the trusty pick, spread the dry cement around the buried tires and began to gun the vehicle's motor smokin' the spinnin' tires and shifting the cattle trailer toward the polar ledge with no avail. I could just see the Young Guns plunging to their death at the bottom of the ravine and there goes our bread and butter baby! Hubby get's out of the truck sayin', " I guess we need to go get a tractor." Well this farm chick knows what that means. My favorite sayin' around the Ponderosa is, "ya want me to do WHAT???" It means this chick is on massive farm equipment she's not confident operating pulling a 3/4 ton flatbed and twenty foot cattle trailer stuffed with obese bovine on an icy Ozark cliff. I could not see this ending well by any stretch of my very vivid imagination. This is when I heard Hubby softly said,"or call Big D." "Yes, Yes, oh please call Big D", I squealed like a cheerleader with new pom~poms. Big D drives an enormous bright-red wrecker that had pulleys, chains and all the bells and whistles for such predicaments. Man help, filled with muscles oozing testosterone and burly man spit. That's just what this job required.

Big D came to the rescue securing the liberating wrecker to the side of the mountain above winching the cattle train up and over the icy hill to the blessed blacktop road. The second load of Young Guns traveled safely to the waiting semi pot at Teeny Town Sale Barn but it was too late for the third load to make the journey. They would have to wait to make the run to market the following week. Just like the title of the 1959 Rogers and Hammerstein's show-tune song, this Ozarks farm chick was sooooo delighted she did not have to mount that big old blue tractor and help that cattle train "Climb Ev'ry Mountain!!!

UP ON THE ROOF

It was one of those sticky sultry sweltering Ozarks ninety~ eight degree summer days. Ya, know the kind that makes the most proper woman break into a sweat just liftin' a tall glass of cold iced tea to her luscious lips. Mom was visiting, our children were young and the forecast was muggily humid but clear. A perfect day for Mom to entertain the kids while Hubby and I stripped the roof down to its bare necked bones to re-shingle our leaking addition. We had the tar paper, shingles and roofin' nails at hand. I was dressed in shorts, a cute little tee, ponytail and tennis shoes ready for the task with hammer in hand. Hubby and I play well together and we had the old roofing off in no time when out of nowhere like a sonic boom came the loudest clap a thunder this Ozarks farm chicks ears have ever heard. Yep folks, a thunderstorm was movin' in faster than a cheetah chasing a frightened deer. The sky opened up with a cloudburst creating a deluge upon our roof. There was an abundance of white lightning streakin' through the sky over our heads. No, not moonshine but firebolts of lightning discharging atmospheric energy with their vivid flashes. Busier than a couple stumped tailed cows swattin' flies Hubby and I tried to hammer down a barrier when we heard Mama holler like a stuck hog, "It's leaking in the house...BAD!" We desperately needed our shingles. Today I want to talk about another kind of shingles.

Shingles also known as Herpes Zoster is the same virus as chickenpox. The United States reports one million cases of this painful prickly rash a year. If you have ever had the poultrypox you are susceptible to gettin' shingles sometime your lifetime. The virus lives in the nerve roots just waiting like a cat to pounce on a mouse for your immune system to be compromised. It has many long term complications and once you have shingles they are never really gone. They wait patiently in the nerve line until you get sick, lack sleep, get stressed or all of the above and emerge like army of gnawing fire ants runnin' under your skin. This is a subject I have had years of experience with.

What I did not tell ya'll is that when I left for Texas after the big Thanksgiving Dinner , the trip that included the Red Tide, frigid temperatures, windy cold rain and parental duties, that climbing into the car to travel the long 1145 miles I was attacked with shingles. One of the first signs of the agonizing booger is " itchin' like a man on a fuzzy tree" and Elvis is not in the building. I have a natural cure for this nasty condition found in the Prescription for Nutritional Healing Guide. It's cured people who have been under doctors care and hospitalized without results. This chicks kinda like Karl Malden in those old American Express Travelers Checks commercials and I "don't leave home without them." I always mix some up and take it with me just in case.

You mix one tablespoon of sweet almond oil as a carrier then add 4-5 drops of eucalyptus oil and 4-5 drops of lemon oil to it. You use the sweet almond oil to cut the other oil because they can burn you skin if used in full strength. Apply the mixture directly to the lesions at the first sign of and outbreak several times a day. In most instances, the lesions dry up and disappear completely within five days after starting this treatment. When you first start using it you'll think it's not doin' anything then it just starts drying up like grapes in the sun. You can use a cortisone cream between applications to keep ya'll from itchin' like a hound dog with fleas. I just wanted to share this with ya'll so if ya ever get caught with the shingles you won't be like a wounded squirrel in pain, sang by the drifters in 1962, "Up On The Roof!!! "

BUSTED!!! (part two of Money!Money!Money!)

"Lettin' the cat out of the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin' it back in," was a sayin' heard frequently from my Pappy Walden's soft spoken voice. "Well I am no thief, but a man can go wrong when he's busted," was what Nashville Songwriter Harlan Howard wrote in 1962 for Johnny Cash but the song "Busted" wasn't a smash hit 'till Ray Charles sang the soul version in 1963. Yep, that Charles was known for havin' a lot of fun with his songs and sang it from the prospective of a dirt poor farmer who could really use a government bailout. The floundering farmer couldn't borrow any cash 'cause everyone else was busted too! Sound familiar??? This song might have had a whole different meaning if Granny Walden had a hold of it. Ya'll did not want to be the one to fall in the wrath of my Granny Walden. Everyone in the county knew who ruled that roost and poor Uncle Wilbert was about to be busted as Dolly Parton.

When we pulled in the drive from our Albuquerque trip Mama saw her beautifully open back porch completely encased by lush gourd vines, the woman went off like a cannon during the Civil War. Well, poor Daddy thought he had done a good deed by stringing the invasive seedlings up and keeping them alive all summer. The Battle of You Did~~Who Did was on as we pushed our way with suitcases in tow through the dense green forage into the house. That's when this prosperous independent little farm chicklet had the let that wild kitty out of the bag and divulge my plans of attaining the affluent life of a three year old and how it came to be. I can remember Mama and Daddy shoutin' in unison, "you Uncle Wilbert told you WHAT???" I knew right then and there my bachelor uncle was as busted as a can of biscuits whacked hard against a sharp edged counter and my little heart sank as faster then a horseshoe tossed in a pond.

I had dreams of that new toy Singer sewing machine or a Mickey Mouse doll. I was quite smitten with that Annette never missin' an episode of the Mickey Mouse Club. Maybe I'd buy a bunch of socks so Mama could make sock monkeys for all my friends. My plans for adding some new red vinyl 45's to spin on the old turn table went out the window along with keepin' Mama in those Toni Home wave kits so I could have the curls of Shirley Temple she wished upon my board straight hair. Yes, the dreams of endless cream soda and nickel chocolate bars were no longer in my grasp......so I thought.

Swanked by my Granny Walden and trapped as a southern gal in a six~tier skirt, Uncle Wilbert was ordered to purchase my gourd harvest at the market price of five cents apiece. Nobody ever argued when the verdict came down from Granny. All's well that ends well. It was a rich harvest, rich as the black soil that propagated the seeds planted by my young enterprising fingers. This little Ozark chicklet laughed and danced on the porch that crisp autumn day as my cash crop was harvested and purchased by my Uncle Wilbert who was just soooo "Busted!!!"