A sure cure for cabin fever

Finally it was warm enough to ride my horse. I headed off with no specific destination in mind; not a quarter-mile from home, there was a crew of people working on the road, filling in the potholes.

This guy was sleeping when I first passed, but by the time I decided to turn back and take his picture, he'd heard me talking to the guys (and one gal) in the picture below and was wide awake.



Any other horse I've owned would have totally freaked out at all these goings-on. Not my Blue.

Although he wasn't exactly crazy about the signs and traffic cones.

Down by the Missouri River, they're doing some work on the levee where it gave out last spring; Blue was quite alert.

Me and my shadow.

Looking back, that's Blue's tracks. It's still pretty darned muddy in the bottoms.

I guess that sign up there is for the barges, but it's aimed in the wrong direction.

There's a little chair-like thing at the top. Hmmmm.


The speck in the middle of the above picture is an eagle who soared above me for at least ten minutes. Sorry, that's the best my camera can do...

unless I clip the picture. Now you can tell it really is an eagle.

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Now playing: Doc Watson - Tennesse Stud
via FoxyTunes

Pay it forward challenge

I got this from Rachel, of "Sliding Through Life"

Here are the rules:

1.~Leave a comment on my blog that says you want to play. First three folks to comment will get a gift from ME. (If I don't know it already, let me know how I can contact you, an e-mail is fine, and I have an e-mail on my profile!)

2.~Do the same thing on your blog!The first three folks who leave a comment and commit to doing this on their blog, too, will get a surprise from YOU at a surprise time in the next 365 days!

Sounds like fun to me! (Only thing is, I'm not sure how long I can wait to send you a surprise, so it probably won't be anywhere near a year.)
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Now playing: John Prine - Unwed Fathers
via FoxyTunes

Just for your information...

The two most common Google searches that bring people to my blog: "How long can a cold last?"

And "Parts of a river."

::shrugs::

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Now playing: Ramblin' Jack Elliott - Cup of Coffee
via FoxyTunes

To breed a heifer

I'm adding this in March of 2010 for all of you who end up here by typing "When to breed a heifer" into Google.  The answer is at age fifteen months, so they'll calve at age two.  By the way, the heifer I was talking about in this entry turned out to be sterile, although she cycled just fine.  We hauled her to the sale barn.  I now have a lovely little registered Jersey cow that I milk whenever I feel like it, and let her calf take care of the milk the rest of the time.

Back when I had a herd of registered Jersey cattle, I didn't keep a bull around for breeding purposes. Jersey bulls are famous for being nasty, mean, and downright dangerous. So I would call a man who would come and artificially inseminate my ladies.

I don't recall what the price was, but it was a wonderful way to keep my herd procreating. Sometimes a cow wouldn't settle (become pregnant) on the AI man's first attempt; he'd come back and try again, charging this time for only his trip, not the semen. After three attempts, I had to pay, once again, for the semen. However, about two times out of three, the cow would settle the first breeding. A side benefit of this practice was that my little unknown, nobody cows were bred to the finest Jersey bulls in the country that were worth thousands of dollars.

A cow comes in heat every three weeks. The first hint you get is that she'll bellow and walk the fence. Other cows will try to mount her like a bull would, but she won't allow it for twelve to twenty-four hours. When she does stand for other cows to mount her, that's called "standing heat". When this happens, you count twelve to twenty-four more hours and then call the A.I. technician.

When we started learning all this, I was always in a hurry to call the breeder-man. The cow seemed so desperate, after all. Almost as though she were in pain. I only wanted to give her some relief, put her out of her misery. So our old cow didn't get bred the first couple of times I called, until the old A.I. man explained the timing to me.

Where am I going with all this? Well, my heifer, Secret, is a year old. In May she'll be old enough to breed. I called a local veterinary and got the name of an ABS breeder who lives not far from here. But when I called and talked to his wife, she informed me that he doesn't keep semen of "the rare breeds". I told her I'd be willing to buy five straws of semen for him to store for me in his (you have to buy in lots of five), and she said he'd call back. He never did.

Semen, by the way, is stored in liquid nitrogen tanks where it remains viable for years. To read about the history of artificial insemination, click HERE.

I've gotten in touch with the people from whom I bought Secret; they have a bull, but don't sound too enthusiastic about letting us use him. And I hate to beg.

Cliff's brother has an Angus bull, so if all else fails, that's where I'll take my heifer. Then she'll have a nondescript, small-boned black calf. A mongrel.

But I sure would like to get a cute little Jersey calf from her.

Secret was born during a very cold time last February, so the tips of her ears and the tip of her tail froze. It makes her look a little strange, I'll admit.



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Now playing: Ramblin' Jack Elliott - Mean Mama Blues
via FoxyTunes

Wordless Wednesday: "This chair's too big!"

My blog, up for grabs on the stock market?

I enjoy using my Sitemeter to see who's been visiting my blog. I could fix it so nobody could see the information except me, but what the heck. I don't care if you click on it and come to the sad realization that at least half my hits come from people who stumbled in here looking for porn by way of Google.com, and that most of them stay for zero seconds when they realize they had better re-word their search.

They make my hit count look good, so who am I to complain? I tell myself that lots of people are reading this through Bloglines, so their visits don't even show up on the counter (that's how I read all my favorite blogs, unless I want to comment). It probably all evens out.

Yesterday I noticed someone had come here by way of Blogshares, something I had never before heard of. So of course I went there to check it out.

Hmmm, a fantasy blog share market. The best I can discern, you pretend to own shares in a blog, I think. And you can sell your shares. The value can go up and down.

Well, in the first place, I'm surprised that anyone would invest in this blog, even in their fantasies. Come on, this isn't Pioneer Woman. But then I realize that the shares to this humble abode probably sell at a very low price, rather like penny stocks.

That's me, the poor man's index fund.

I don't think I want to know what's happening with the shares to my blog.

Checking in from Mudville

Yesterday it warmed up and thawed considerably. So for the first time in weeks, I gave both my horses a little attention. Because of the thawing, there was absolutely no bottom to the ground; our whole place was a marsh. Rather than soak my cowboy boots with mud, I put on rubber boots and waded across the pasture after Blue. Once I got to where the horses were lounging, I decided not to ride; Cliff's sister was coming to visit with us, and it would be rather rude of me to ride off into the sunset. Besides, Libby hadn't had any attention since I brought her back home from the "trainer".

It's risky to wear rubber boots with working with horses, but I had very little choice.

That's where the horses stood as I groomed them. Only it looks a lot worse than that, live and in person.

I spent about a half-hour with each horse, and I think both animals appreciated the attention, even if they had to stand knee-deep in mud. I notice they're shedding like crazy, so spring must not be too far off.

Cliff's sister decided to spend the night with us; so today Cliff mentioned Olive Garden, and Rena said she had never been there.

"Well, we'll fix that," Cliff said.

We made a stop at Penny's to pick up some T-shirts for Cliff, went to Wal-Mart and found a grinder on clearance exactly like Cliff needed, and then browsed around Sam's Club until time for Olive Garden to open up.


We had the soup, salad, and bread sticks with an appetizer of artichoke-spinach dip.

Yum.

Cliff's sister, who's been in Wisconsin for the past fifteen years or so, is in the middle of divorce proceedings and is looking at places to live in this area.

I know, this is a pretty hum-drum entry. But at this time, life itself is pretty hum-drum. Sometimes that's a good thing.

another one of "those" discussions

Cliff and I get into the strangest conversations when we're traveling. So yesterday as we made a trip to Versailles to an aunt's birthday party, here's how it went:

Me: "I've been looking at the price of land in our area, and even with our house needing remodeling, I think 40 acres within driving distance of Kansas City ought to be worth $200,000. After all, there's electricity there, and it's fenced, and your shop ought to be worth something to the right person; not to mention that there's a perfect place for a new home back in our pasture, looking down on the river bottom."

Cliff: "Yeah, and then we could buy that house across the highway; we'd have to have a sale and sell most of the farm implements. You'd need to sell the filly and just keep Blue; we could only make room for one horse."

"Yeah," I responded. "I'd do that. Secret (my heifer) would have to go too, but as long as I can keep Blue..."

"Then as soon as the weather was nice, all we'd have to do is hop on the motorcycle and go. Of course," Cliff said, "we'd lose the extra income from the trailer rent and the horses we board."

"Yeah, but we wouldn't have a house payment, which more than makes up for that."

This went on for quite some time. So when we got to the party, we asked Cliff's brother, who dabbles in real estate, what he thought. "This is not a good time to get much for that place," he said. "Properties just aren't selling. I'd say it's still worth $3,000 an acre, though."

Hmmm. That's only $120,000 for 40 acres. I think not.

So on the way home, here's how the conversation went: Me: "I don't see as we need to get in a big hurry; we can put up with that old house for a few years more. Why push it? The time will come when we'll have to sell; let's worry about it then."

Cliff: "Yeah, that's how I see it too."

What it boils down to is this: If some uninvited person knocks on our door out of the blue and says, "I'll give you $200,000 for this place," we're selling.

Not likely, is it?

But then, stranger things have happened.

Reflecting on my mother's mementos

My mom kept hundreds of letters, post cards, and mementos. However, it wasn't something she did consistently throughout her life.

I've noticed she kept things from 1930-1932, which was her dating/courting period. Obviously that was a significant time for her; she kept diaries during those years, but all that remains are a few pages. Mice, stains, and time have spoiled most of her journaling.

Then there's no correspondence stored away until 1937-1938. I've researched and read the letters from that time, and I think now I understand why she kept everything from those years. It's because there were such life-changing things going on in her life.

First of all, she lost the baby boy she had carried to full term because the umbilical cord was around his neck. You can see she wrote on this picture, "Me pregnant for Lonnie Ray".

Next, she and Daddy were trying to get his son from his first marriage into their custody. My dad's aunt had kept my brother from birth after his mother died birthing him, and had steadfastly refused to give him up. Although my dad had every right to his son, my parents were too poor to hire a lawyer.

But my brother started giving the aunt some trouble as he approached adolescence, and she realized she wasn't going to be able to handle him.

I've read letters from some aunts to my parents, telling them that this was their chance to get the boy. And finally they did. In the above picture you see my parents with my sister and brother, after their family was united.

Also in 1938, my mother's daddy got cancer, suffered horribly, and died. So in that picture where my mom is pregnant, her daddy (in the overalls) did not have long to live. He wasn't that old a man.

All the letters my mother kept from that time mentioned at least one of these events, one way or another. Yesterday I read on a post card my grandma had sent, "It's been nine months since your dad left us."

After that, there are no more cards and letters until 1944. In July of that year I was born. My mother, at age 34, had finally given birth to a live baby. She kept every card of congratulations and even all the Christmas cards from that year. There must have been great rejoicing in that house. She kept the letters the doctor wrote to her, both during her pregnancy and after my birth. In one of these, the doctor tells her to be sure and not spoil the baby. Obviously, she didn't obey orders. But all of that goes into what makes me ME.

Oh, there are a few items Mother kept in later years. But never to the extent that she did in those traumatic times, her saddest and her happiest years.

It's surely been a blessing to me, reading those letters from the past.

Thanks, Mother. I'm sharing these things the best I can.

I'm back in the present now

I can only submerge myself in my mom's old keepsakes and pictures for so long before the house begins to look like a dumping ground and I turn into a zombie. So I've stopped dividing and boxing pictures for awhile. I've scanned until I'm sick of scanning, and I've taken the boxes and totes back upstairs. At least I've begun the task; after a few weeks break, I'll take it up again.

By the way, there are other old pictures on my AOL journal that I didn't show here, if you enjoy strolling down memory lane with me.

Trouble is, except for the weather, there's not much blogging material right now. Winter drags along. At my age, I should be thankful when time's passage slows, because my life is flying by.

This morning my Bible reading included this prayer by David: "Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered, and that my life is fleeing away. My life is no longer than the width of my hand. An entire lifetime is just a moment to you: human existence is but a breath."

My days aren't bad now, just unstructured. We're not eating right. Because of the weather, we're not going for our daily walk. The two local granddaughters have spent the better part of two days here, since school has been canceled due to slick roads here in the boonies. They're no trouble to have around, at ages 10 and 12. These days they don't even argue that much, and when they do, one reminder will stop them.

I want to ride Blue again. I want to go for a motorcycle ride. But the fact that I've been unable to do these things for so long will make it even sweeter when I finally can.

Here's an excerpt from a letter my Aunt Mary wrote to my mom in 1945:

"I got me a new gasoline iron on Sunday; imagine that! It is second-handed but she said she just lit it up just three or four times. It looks just like new."

Now to me, a gasoline iron sounds dangerous. I googled to find out what I could and got this picture.

Then I read a bit about the history of the iron.

Which shows you how stir-crazy I really am, since ironing is strictly taboo around here.

More pretties from the past

I've been scanning the post cards that were given to my father when he was growing up, all of them before 1924, I believe. In the collection are cards for most any occasion. None of them have been mailed, but most had a note on the back and were signed by the giver. I guess people just handed out the cards the way kids do Valentines today.





I'll bet World War I was going on when this Thanksgiving card was printed.


Now here are some handkerchiefs whose age I'm sure of, because they were mine as a child. Most, if not all, were given to me when I was in the hospital for a week when I was seven years old, in 1951. The doctors never did figure out what was wrong with me, but my mysterious ailment disappeared on its own. My fever finally ebbed and I stopped vomiting, so they unhooked the intravenous needles from my arm, started feeding me gradually, and sent me home.

Little aggravations

So Robin, a blogging friend over at AOL journals has a birthday coming up, and asked her readers to make a video of themselves singing happy birthday to her.

When I got my guitar out of the case, it was hopelessly out of tune. And it took me a good twenty minutes to find my guitar tuner.

Then I opened up the little compartment in my guitar case looking for my capo, and it's not there. I always keep it there! It's a Kyser, and I paid nearly $30 for it several years ago; I see they've come down in price, which is good if I can't find mine. Musician's Friend has them for $19.95. I'm thinking I may have left it in my cabin last fall. If Cliff and I take our morning walk, I'll check there and see.

Anyhow, what all of this tells me is that I haven't strummed my guitar in months. I'm such a slacker. I think when my husband wakes up and asks for his coffee, I'll serenade him, just to get back in practice. Yes, he will enjoy it; his hearing isn't great, and he thinks I sing like a pro.

Another little aggravation: I have mice playing around in a bathroom cabinet. I put poison out for them, but that takes so long to work that I decided to help it along with a mousetrap. Alas, the mice simply lick the peanut butter off and leave the trap unsprung.

They just don't make mousetraps like they used to. Cruel as it is, I'm going to get some of that sticky paper I with which I catch mice at the cabin and put it down inside the cabinet. I hate mice in my house; they're filthy little vermin, and they poop everywhere.

Stuff you'll find in an old plug tobacco can

Mother kept this can among her treasures; my daddy had it, I suppose, as a little boy. It holds greeting cards in it that his relatives and friends gave him before 1920.

Cards like these.


Also a few of his grade cards; the one you see is from 1918.

At the very bottom of the can was a folded handkerchief. Now, since it was in this particular can, I'm going to guess that perhaps the hankie belonged to Daddy's mother, who died in childbirth when he was still a child.

It's only a guess, though. Do we have any handkerchief experts who would venture a guess on the age of this one? If it belonged to my grandmother, it would have to be about ninety years old. It's bigger than most hankies, measuring 16" by 18". I washed it and it held up just fine.


That's my dad on the left. Just think, back then women had no choice but to have one baby after another. She died giving birth to her next child; the baby died with her.

Am I in some sort of trouble?

In the previous entry, I mentioned having lunch with Congressman Ike and linked to an entry on my AOL journal explaining it.

Checking my sitemeter awhile ago, I was totally blown away to see that my blog has been visited by someone in Washington, DC. Someone who followed the link to my AOL entry and then returned here.

(click to make the screenshot bigger)

Honest, folks. I'm just a simple Republican, but I have ALWAYS voted for Ike. Really!

Pardon me, I think there are some Secret Service people coming up my driveway.

I always make my bed

I do mean I always make the bed. Except for today. Now remember, my husband works second shift, so he gets home at 1 A.M. and sleeps until 7 or 8 o'clock in the morning. Me, I'm up by four o'clock, most days. When Cliff wakes up, he hollers at me to turn on the waiting coffee pot; I take his first couple of cups to him in bed when it's done; and, believe it or not, he often eats his oatmeal there, too. Laying on his side.

So you can see that a lot of time elapses between my getting up and the time the bed is vacated. When Cliff finally gets moving, I make the bed. Normally I do that whether anything else gets done to the house or not.

For some reason I didn't get to it today. We went for our walk and then hit the road to do some shopping. On the way back, we ate Chinese with Congressman Ike Skelton. When we got home, I hurriedly made coffee and started once again sifting through my mom's old treasures, which were scattered across the living room floor along with various boxes I was using for sorting the stuff.

Cliff had gone to work and the grandson had just stepped outside to head to his job; but he came back in, saying, "Grandma, there's a man outside that says he used to live here. He wants to see the house."

The guy was a nice-looking fellow, perhaps ten years younger than I. The grandson was hovering nearby looking worried, but I told him I was fine, to go ahead and go to work.

Perhaps twenty years ago this same thing happened, only it was this man's brother who stopped by. And as I recall, the house was in an awful state that day, too.

Anyhow, this man was very personable, and told me how he fell through the floor in one spot when termites had invaded the place. It was his dad, he said, who put a bathroom and running water in the house; when they moved here, there was just an outhouse.

If only I had made the bed. And picked up all my mom's clutter in the living room.

Please folks, don't tell Flylady.

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Now playing: Iris Dement - When My Morning Comes Around
via FoxyTunes

Another item found in my mom's stuff

The front and the back of a 1929 piece of sheet music. Here are the (corny) lyrics:

JUST A DREAM OF MOTHER
Words and music by H. C. Weasner

Dreaming of the days gone by so dear to memory
As how in childhoods happy days we played at Mother’s knee.
When the nigh shades gathered ‘round and all the world seemed drear.
Sweet old stories she’d unfold that linger still so dear.

Just a dream of mother who lulled me to rest,
Bringing back to memory the days we loved the best,
How in childish fancy, her voice sweet and low
Singing me the old songs in days of long ago.

Years have passed; there still remains a picture sweet and rare.
Tis blended with a thought of love and breathes a mother’s prayer.
Mother’s voice no more we’ll hear in stories as of old.
While the twilight softly falls, love’s message will unfold.

This is one of those things I hesitate to throw away, but can't find any real reason to keep it; so I'm tossing it into the box of stuff I'll give my sister, and she can decide what to do with it.

A letter to my body

I got the idea for this from Average Jane.

Dear Body,

I surely appreciate the way you’ve stood by me and put up with the way I’ve mistreated you since my birth.

In fact, I wasn’t supposed to survive my birth, but thanks to you, Body, I made it; and so did my mom.

Your healing capacity is amazing.

Not quite as good as I’d like, but hey... I’ve pushed the limits.

I went barefoot all my life until plantar faciitis came to visit. Was that necessary? Have I told you how much I miss going barefoot?

I exercised, walking three miles a day... until you decided it was time for my knees to give out.

And what is it with the pain in my left hand? You know, the muscle I need to use when I wring something out? It hurts! I can’t even open a jar of peanut butter these days.

While I’m at it, why can’t I hear the television?

Dear body, I know you’d like me to watch what I eat so I’d lose weight. And I’d like that myself.

Trouble is, I’ve noticed how brief is my span on earth. And I wonder if life without pizza is really worth living. It probably isn’t.

Body, I don’t intend to give up caffeine. Caffeine is the only reason I get out of bed in the morning.

I still take my daily walks, aching knees and all, although I only go half the distance I used to. It isn't much fun in cold weather, but I go, just for you. In spite of the walks, I notice that top number on my blood pressure has crept up to over 150 in the past months; what's with that? Am I wasting my time walking and leaving salt off my food?

You did well with the way you nurtured the two babies I birthed. But why is it that now everything important to me has drooped or wrinkled or dried up or started hurting?

When it’s all said and done, you’re the only body I have. So I guess I have to tell you how much I appreciate you. It's been good. I just wish you could have kept the youthful vigor.

Thanks for everything, Body. Please forgive me for the abuses.

Thanks for putting up with all the mistreatment.

Without you, life wouldn’t be worth much.

Stuff my mother saved

Once again I've been going through the treasures my mom left behind, things she kept from long ago that brought back good memories. Times were so much simpler then, when my mom was courting. She'd save the strangest things, obviously to keep certain "romantic" memories alive. These are all from before she was married in 1932. Be sure to click on any of the pictures to make them larger.

When boys bought her a candy bar, she saved the wrappers.


In case you can't make out the faded writing on the envelope, she and Everett (whom she later married) and Bill (who later married my dad's only sister) made a bet about which of them weighed the most. The winner (the heaviest) got a candy bar. Mother won. Bill also got her an ice cream cone. Hmmm, I wonder why she was the heaviest?

What it says on this envelope: "Everett and Raymond went to Ridgeway the day we were quarantined at Virgils & brought me a candy bar. This is the wrapper.

Wow! Raymond, the last of the big-time spenders, bought my mom a whole pack of gum. Raymond, by the way, was my dad's brother.

All that's left of the cigarette is the paper, as you can see. Oh, but there was a match in this envelope too, with a different note on the inside of the envelope flap:

I can picture a lot of horseplay going on that evening, can't you?

I hope you folks get the same sort of chuckle I did, looking at these things and reading between the hastily-jotted lines.

Welcome, Homesteading Today friends!

When I checked my Sitemeter earlier this afternoon, I noticed I was getting a lot of new visitors from Homesteading Today, one of the useful forums I check into often. It's a place where you can ask questions about most any farming, homesteading, or livestock issue and get several answers and opinions.

I knew I had not posted anything there for some time, so I hastened to the site to find out what was going on. Lo and behold, the site is temporarily down, and several blogs were listed so the members would have something to read.

I checked out all the blogs, and found some really useful information and several interesting people.

I just wanted to throw out the welcome mat for my fellow HT users. I'm not as "homestead-oriented" as many of the other blogs, but hey... at least I have a tractor up there at the top. That has to count for something, right?

Feel free to comment: I do allow anonymous comments.

To read about a common country problem, click HERE for an entry on my AOL blog.

P.S. I noticed one of the HT referrals is in Bates City. That's so near, I could spit on them. Any other Kansas City area Homesteading Today folks dropping by?

Silly weather guessers again

Cliff and I seldom miss watching "CBS Sunday Morning". It's one of the better news magazine shows on television. Sometimes we watch from the comfort of our bed, snuggled down warm and cozy; that's what we intended to do today.

We had rain all night, with the rain turning to snow this morning. The ground is white now, but not frozen. Evidently, Kansas City has more white stuff than we do. Because the weather guessers have preempted our usual fare. Yes, that would be "CBS Sunday Morning".

So for a solid hour, we've listened to a talking head repeating the same weather information over and over, when this information could easily be made to crawl along the bottom of the screen while we watch our regular programing.

Guess I'll go to CBS Sunday Morning website to see what I missed today.

An awesome horse video

I've had at least three people send me this video, and I appreciate the fact that they thought of me. If you can watch this without getting tears in your eyes, you're just not a horse lover. Notice there are no reins and no saddle. Watch, and be amazed.

We bought something for the motorcycle today

Now when we do our grocery shopping, we can take the motorcycle. That trailer will pull behind it and hold plenty of groceries.

I found two used motorcycle trailers on Craigslist; one we looked at had no title, and it was pretty well worn. The other one sold before we could look at it.

So we bought a new one we both liked. It'll come in handy when we go to Branson for a long weekend, too; or when we ride the Honda to Colorado. There's plenty of room for our clothes.

The next-blog button, revisited

Last October I mentioned going on a blog-jog by way of the next-blog button, up there in the top, left-hand corner of this page. I kept coming onto porn sites, and it was obvious my browser had been hijacked, because I was being directed back to the same porn blogs, over and over.

Blogger has obviously changed something, because I've blog-hopped a lot this afternoon and not found a single porn site (no, I was NOT disappointed at this). I've come upon several blogs in other languages, which is understandable; and I have noticed a disproportionate number of blogs by Mormons, but that's no problem in my book.

So in case you had not tried that next-blog button lately, let me assure you that it seems to be safe nowadays.

Google maps

I've learned a lot by reading blogs; here's something I've seen mentioned on more than one Kansas City blog: Google maps now has pictures!

Just what I needed, another Internet time-waster. Yes, Google maps now gives you pictures of various locations in the big cities. For instance, that's my old alma mater. North Kansas City High School.

Here's my husband's place of employment: You can use all the little arrows on the Google pictures to turn and look in a different direction until you find what you're looking for.

Is this not amazing? Right now you can only find larger cities having images (I believe Kansas City was only recently added), but I'm sure it's just a matter of time until Google will have photographs of the whole world.

Happy Valentine's Day

And thank you, Ben Stein, for this.

guilty pleasures

Are there any TV programs you feel guilty watching?

I don't mean vile, pornographic shows. I'm talking about programs that are so obviously fake, so trumped up, that you know you shouldn't take them seriously. They insult your intelligence. And you don't believe them for a minute, not really. Yet, you can't miss a single episode!

I have one such show: "Wife Swap". I'd be just as well off confessing to watching Jerry Springer; it's that kind of show.

I can't believe I tune in to it each week, and even look forward to it!

Excuse me while I go dig a hole and bury myself.

At least I haven't gotten hooked on Super Nanny (so far).

Wordless Wednesday: Seen in a Texas FLEA market

I hope none of the dogs got any new fleas! For more Wordless Wednesdays entries, go HERE.

Random pictures from Texas

People dancing at a jam on Thursday; that one lady is really short, isn't she?

People on stage ready to jam!

I was in bed at my sister's, ready to turn off the lamp at bedside, when I noticed my reflection in the mirror on her closet doors and decided to take a self-portrait. My mom made the quilt, which I got out of the closet because it was a bit cool that night.

That's me with my new haircut. Pay no attention to my wadded-up shirt; you'll see very few pictures of me without my shirt askew. It's just my way.


I used the timer on my camera to take this picture of Maxine and myself getting ready to play a hand of the card game, "Fourteen". When I was showing this picture to Cliff, I asked him, "How long have I had that age spot on my forehead?"

"Oh my, for a long, long time," he answered.

Which shows you how little attention I pay to my reflection in the mirror. I actually avoid looking at myself! I had never noticed that spot before.