We have a kitten

Two or three years ago, I adopted a couple of kittens from a neighbor.  I named one of them Grady because he was gray; Cora named the other little male Buttons.  Those two kittens took to hanging out in Cliff's shop, where they entertained everyone with their antics.  I had them neutered as soon as the vet said they were old enough, which turned out to be far too soon.  I paid $70 per kitten, and Grady disappeared soon after he was fixed.  The cats live outside, so perhaps a fox or coyote had him for supper.  I once saw a fox stalking Buttons from the top of a big round hay bale, but he's still living, though feeble-minded as always; he never was the same after Cora ran over him in her Power Wheels jeep (I'm kidding... all that did was break his tail).  Grady was the favorite:  He was good-looking, friendly and intelligent.  My favorite color for a cat has always been solid gray, and I've mentioned to several people that I might take another kitten in if I could get a gray one.  

Enter Blue, stage left.

Here's the problem:  Last time, I got two kittens at once, so they were companions.  Here I am with just one kitten and two old cats, who of course won't like him much.  I can't just toss him in the barn by his teeny-tiny self and expect him to know that's his home.  Old Jake has already been lured away to an elderly neighbor's house, I assume because he's afraid of the grandson's Great Dane, who wouldn't hurt him for anything but whose size is intimidating when he runs toward you.  That elderly lady keeps food out for all cats, feral and otherwise; she also has them neutered if she can trap them, so honestly, she's doing some good.  Anyway, with Jake gone I only had Mama Kitty and Buttons left.

For about a month, I had three chickens in the back porch in a big box until I could move them outside.  I had just gotten that mess out of there a week ago, but when Cliff suggested I put Blue  in there until he gets settled.  Cliff and I don't want a house cat, ever.  I don't like cat-hair floating around, and I don't want them on my counters or table; let's not even talk about the litter box.  When Cliff and I got married, he had a strong dislike for cats, while I always loved them.  Now we've rubbed off on one another, I guess, because now Cliff can tolerate cats if they're outside, and that's where I want them too.  There was a time my husband would never have suggested I put any feline in the porch, but after keeping chickens there, I guess anything is an improvement.  He even cut down a side of an old plastic dishpan and filled it with oil-dry, for a temporary litter box.

Well, you can hardly expect a cat to live in a little back porch without seeing any living creature, so every once in awhile I let him in here with us, where he works on perfecting his stalking-and-killing comedy routine with Gabe.  He has been trying to find a source of milk on Gabe's belly, but I am strongly discouraging that; obviously, he came here straight from his mother.  He had to learn to drink water, too, but eating cat food came naturally to him.  

I tend to forget how entertaining a kitten can be.  However, I know from past experience that I've created a problem for myself, because once a cat has been inside, he thinks he owns that house forever.  I will live to regret ever letting him inside to play, because any time an outside door is opened, he'll run in, for the rest of his life.  Perhaps after I've turned him loose in the great outdoors, I'll keep a loaded water gun handy for times he sneaks in the door, or tries to.

I can imagine my readers thinking, "Oh yeah, she's hooked.  That kitten will be an inside cat for the rest of his life."

Oh no, he won't.  You don't know my husband; he'd never allow it... believe me, I've stretched him to his limit lately with the chickens.  But more importantly, I don't want a house cat.  However, I might consider keeping a bed in the back porch for him, feeding him there and, while he's so small, having him sleep there.  I'd hate to think of his becoming a midnight snack for a bobcat.  Just in case, I'm going to wait until he's five or six months old to get him neutered.  By then he will have some sense about how to stay alive and he won't go the way of Grady... I hope.

So, no house cats for me, although I've always said that if I lived alone, I might consider letting a cat live inside with me.  After watching Blue and Gabe chasing one another around, I realize that if nothing else, they'd give me something to laugh about.  But at this stage of my life, they'll have to play outside once Blue learns the ropes of living in the country without benefit of a nourishing and wise feline mother watching his back.

Life goes on.

Feels like a good day

We had a nice weekend around here:  Cliff and the grandson started replacing fences, and spent a lot of time on that.  We had no plans for Memorial Day, but I got up wanting to make potato salad, so I did that (one of my better efforts) and then made bread in the bread machine.  Then the grandson told us he was smoking some ribs and chicken because his mom and Andy were coming over, as well as his sister; I told him I had potato salad, and the meal was set!  We visited for three or four hours, and when our company left, it was only an hour til bedtime.  I'm looking forward to dinner, because we have leftovers!  Added to that, I cooked a bunch of sweet potatoes my daughter passed on to me that she'd been given.  I love candied sweet potatoes, so I melted half a stick of butter in my stainless steel skillet, added about 1/3 cup of brown sugar, and laid the peeled and halved sweet potatoes in that, put a lid on the skillet, and turned down the burner.  As one skillet-full got done, I put in more sweet potatoes.  After they were cooked and cooled I put them in 1-quart freezer bags, each bag holding enough for me and Cliff to eat with a meal.  

Rachel also gave me a lot of huge onions.  I diced one of them to put in the freezer when I was done with sweet potatoes:  One onion filled up a one-quart freezer bag!  The sweet potatoes and onions came from a Harvester's drop-off somewhere; I'm glad somebody shared with Rachel and she shared with me.  I love getting free food.  I always wish we could go wait in line at the local Harvester's event so I can have the freebies, but we are not hurting for food.  If anything, we have too much of it.  So I leave it for those who need it.  Knowing my husband as I do, I doubt if he'd go anyway.  He doesn't want to be a moocher.

Since so many people across the country decided to enjoy the holiday weekend in huge, shoulder-to-shoulder crowds as though there had never been a pandemic, we will soon have confirmation one way or the other about how fast it can spread if we're not careful.  The proof is in the pudding, and we should know in two or three weeks whether the virus is as serious as they say, because the numbers should go up dramatically, according to what doctors have told us.  Honestly, it gets to the point where you don't know who or what to believe, with the experts changing their minds so much.  What I don't believe is that it's a trick by the left wing and China to keep the president from winning the next election.  I've heard so many conspiracy theories concerning the virus, and believe none of it, because they come from a bunch of whiners.

Gabe is SO shaggy.  By his next grooming appointment he will have been without a haircut for four months.  I finally gave him a bath yesterday.  He's taken up mole-digging in the pasture, so if he's loose, he'll head out to dig.  Then he comes in with muddy feet.  Today we went to walk, but he was leashed and I did my best to keep him out of mud.  I'm a little shaggy too, but I'm not too worried about it.

I never did do the second entry about artists who's music influenced me, but decided I was bored with that and didn't do it.  I've been a little blue lately for no reason, perhaps because of the cloudy days we've had.  It was getting awfully dry here, but we've had almost two inches of rain in the last couple of days.  I went out and mudded in some sweet corn seeds a while ago.

That's it for today.



   

Albums that have influenced my musical tastes

Last week I took a Facebook challenge:   My task was to choose ten albums that greatly influenced my taste in music. One album per day for ten consecutive days. No explanations, no reviews, just album covers.

Cliff asked why I didn't include a Jerry Lee Lewis album, since we've had several of them and were crazy about Jerry's egotistical way of playing piano and singing.  I told him Jerry Lee really never influenced me in any way... I just liked his music, that's all.

I didn't go by any certain order during the ten days I did this, I simply posted the first one that came to mind each day that had influenced either my taste in music or in some cases, the way I thought and felt about certain things.  I had no trouble until today, the tenth day of posting an album cover, but while Gabe and I were taking our walk, the perfect choice came to mind.  So without any further ado, I'll share my choices, and my reason for those choices.

I bought the album pictured when I lived in an apartment in Kansas City from 1962 to 1964.  Martin Luther King was in the news, and Bob Dylan had taken up the cause of civil rights, at least in some of his songs.  I saw college kids going down to help with the cause, "Blowin' in the Wind" spoke to me. I sometimes felt the desire to go help out myself, but it was never anything I'd really have done, because what would people think if I quit my minimum-wage job and went down south?  And even if nobody had cared, I know I wouldn't have had the nerve to try such a thing; I didn't even have the nerve to tell anybody about my feelings on the matter.  But I sure turned on the news every night after work to get my Walter Cronkite fix, and watch those brave students risk their lives and, sometimes, lose their lives.

This isn't the way our album looked, and this one was done in 1957; but it has the same songs that were on the album my mother bought around 1950-52.  My parents didn't keep the radio playing all the time, and they never listened to the Grand Ole Opry, but they sang a lot around the house; and what they sang was usually old-fashioned hillbilly music and church songs.  My first record player was a wind-up Victrola my parents bought at a one-room country school house that was closing its doors.  Mother bought two record albums that I remember, the kind of albums that contained six 78 RPM records in sleeves, two songs on each record.  There was one by George Morgan and one by Little Jimmy Dickens.  I listened to the songs on each one, but it was Little Jimmy Dickens who had my heart:  His songs were funny!  My favorite was "Country Boy", with words that were quickly learned by heart.  My favorite lines went like this:  "Now every time the preacher came, Ma always fixed a chicken.  If I reached for a drumstick, I was sure to get a licking'.  She always saved two parts for me, but I had to shut my mouth:  Twas the gizzard and the north end of a chicken flyin' south."  I left country music in the 60's, but when I wanted to learn to chord on a guitar in the mid-60's so I could sing folk songs, I came back to the music of my childhood because most country songs were simple to chord to, they only had three chords.  So I loved Little Jimmy Dickens from his youth, right up to the day he died at the age of 94.  He is the artist who made me want to put a little humor in my stories and songs.

I think Peter, Paul, and Mary introduced me to "Blowin' in the Wind" before I even heard of Bob Dylan, author of the song.  But they sure did make it sound good, and they were part of the reason I wanted a guitar so I could sing their songs.  I never got good at playing a guitar, but at least I had accompaniment when I sang.  Plus, some folks from church liked to get together to sing and play.  I could sit in with them and strum along; if I got stuck or didn't know which chord was next, someone would tell me or show me.  In this period of my life, I also met my first boy friend (I was 20).  We were pretty serious, but he eventually realized I wasn't quite normal and jilted me for somebody else.  Best thing that ever happened, because if I'd married that guy, I'd have lived my whole, miserable life without ever living in the country and owning cows and horses... and because he would never have been the wonderful husband Cliff is.

I imagine by the time I bought this album, I had at least half a dozen others by Johnny Cash.  I always liked him.  But I bought this album especially for the ballad "Ira Hayes".  I've always felt bad about the way Indians were treated, always wished I WERE an Indian.  Ira Hayes is such a sad song, a war hero who helped raise the flag at Iwo Jima dying a hopeless alcoholic.  Is there anything sadder than watching an intelligent, loving person choose alcohol over life, and disappear before your eyes?  Doctors hadn't even come up with the term PSTD yet.  Back then it was referred to as "shell-shock".

 I was still single when I bought this collection I found at a record shop in downtown Kansas City, and very much into the folk music.  I subscribed to some folk magazine, and bought books about how Alan Lomax, Pete Seeger, and so many others searched out the old songs of our ancestors in America.  On these records, Alan Lomax and Woody sang songs, talked, and had a drink of some kind of adult beverage every now and then.  I practically had all the stories memorized, I listened to this collection so much.  Woody had a terrible childhood and a terrible death at age 55 from Huntington's Disease.  Below is one of my favorite stories told by Woody on the Library of Congress recordings.

"Well, I was adopted then by another family of people that had a little more money and a little more everything, and was members of the very high and important lodges around over town, and they said it was a pity that so many of us had to live the way we did and not know where our next bite was coming from. So they said that in order to relieve me and the suffering of this family too that I was living with that they'd take me up to their house and I could live with them. So I went up and lived with them, and they had a little old bantam hen. It sat upon that icebox and roosted out there like she owned that whole part of town and my job, mainly, while I was living with that family of people, was to keep track of that cursed bantam hen. I'd have to go find her eggs, where she'd laid the egg, what time of day she'd laid the egg, bring the egg in; I'd sort the egg, lay the egg up, tell the lady about the egg, then go show her the hen, and then she'd go out and pet the hen. And then when night'd come again I'd have to go get the hen again and set her above the icebox to where she could be safe from all harm. And I used to carry her hay fourteen blocks across town from a table in a tall sack. I'd have to make a trip or two every month, by George, to get that hay for the bantam hen. So I thought well, hell's bells, rather than be a chambermaid to a bantam hen, ladies and gentlemen, I'm gonna take to the highways. So I went to Galveston, Texas. Went down to see the Gulf of Mexico and the ocean and all such stuff as that. And also, I knew some people down there and pulled figs in all them orchards down in that country and helped drill water wells and irrigated strawberries and helped a carpenter down there to tear down a whole bunch of houses and post a bunch of land off. And at that time, I was about eighteen."

I've taken up so much space on this entry, I'll have to my other five albums in a different entry.

Peace!

Things I've been doing

I told Cliff I'd fashion some sort of temporary pen for my chickens if he'd bring up the roll of chicken wire.  It isn't really chicken wire, though; my chickens are about six weeks old, and can still get through the rectangular spaces in the wire.  So after wasting about 90 minutes outside, I realized my time had been wasted.  Oh well, I got some exercise, anyway, and the pullets enjoyed the green clover and grass for a while.  Before I put them back in the big plastic box that is their temporary home, I dumped out the dirty straw and gave them fresh straw.



I've been trying to come up with some sort of permanent housing for my flock of three.  Cliff told me I could have the old chicken house back, but he and the grandson are using it for storage for miscellaneous items.  I hate to make them move all that stuff.  Besides, three hens don't need all that room.  After my pen failed this morning, I decided to walk around the place and see if anything looked like it could be turned into a small henhouse.  Down in the pasture I saw my remaining two calf hutches and decided one of those might just work.  Cliff went right to work on it.  I think he was eager to do it, knowing it was one of the simplest things I ever asked him to do.  It's already finished.

Here's the calf hutch.  It's four feet wide and maybe six feet long.

 The calf hutch looks nasty.  That dirty looking stuff on it is tree drippings of some sort, because it's been sitting at the edge of a wooded area.

Here's the nest.  One nest will be plenty for 3 hens.  It's right inside the door of the hutch.

Finally, the roost.  You know, sometimes your chickens come home to roost.

OK, all that nasty-looking stuff on the walls inside are probably old, dried-up calf poop.  The chickens won't worry about that.  

In other happenings, I was reading a depression-era cookbook and saw a recipe for creamed tuna.  I like creamed spinach, creamed potatoes, creamed peas and carrots... but I was a little leery of this dish.  Then I checked allrecipes.com and saw several recipes for creamed tuna, some that had very high ratings.  Many of the recipes there used cream of mushroom or cream of celery soup, but I wanted to do it the old-fashioned way and make my own sauce.  The book I was reading said to put it on toast to eat; other suggestions on allrecipes suggested it be served over rice or pasta.  

Once it was done (it took all of about 7 minutes), I used the toast for the first serving, but we both decided on untoasted bread on the next one, because you know what?  It looked and tasted like gravy!  We were both surprised at how good it was.  Next time I'll bake biscuits to have with it.  Apparently I'm out of peas, but most recipes say to put 1/2 cup to 1 cup of cooked peas; it was so good, I'm not worried about adding peas unless I happen to have them.  

Below is a little story about the recipe, by one of the ladies who submitted it to Allrecipes.com:  

"Times were tough for my newly divorced mom in the 70's. I remember eating creamed tuna on toast with a green salad on the side at least weekly. It was one of my favorite meals, and I had no idea we were eating it out of necessity. Times aren't so tough now, but I still make this about once a month. It's great when you're in a hurry, or have limited supplies on hand. My kids love it too!"

On another note, two days ago I finally learned how NOT to ruin snickerdoodles.  Every time I tried making them, they turned out hard as a rock; I couldn't figure out what my problem was, but I've tasted snickerdoodles made by ten-year-olds that were delicious, so it was downright humiliating that I ruined them every time.  I'll admit there were a few times I wondered if I was cooking them too long, but they weren't even brown, so how was that possible?

One afternoon the grandson came over after work to talk to Cliff.  Usually I have cookies in the house, but that day there weren't any.  I decided to try making snickerdoodles while I had two cookie tasters in the house, and warned them I didn't know how the cookies would turn out, but that I intended to cook them for less time even if they looked raw.  The recipe suggests 8 to 10 minutes, and in the past they were so pale after 10 minutes, I let them cook longer, but not on this day!  The first cookie sheet full of cookies came out at 8 minutes.  I accidentally stuck my thumb in one as I carried them to the table; I could tell it needed more time, but I let them cool and the men trie them.  My seasoned tasters agreed the cookies needed more time in the oven.  I left the next ones for 10 minutes.  They were better; in fact, after they were totally cooled, they were probably fine.  Then I left some in for 11 minutes.  Perfection!  

The two judges enjoyed their job immensely.  

And that's about all I have to offer from Woodhaven Acres.  It's a lovely day, the first really warm one we've had in awhile; storms may come tonight and then again over the next three days.  We need rain, so I'm really hoping it comes to us.

Singing through hard times

I think singing through bad times is what gets people through; let's face it, that's even how the blues were born.  When this pandemic first started, I suggested to a very talented local fellow that he should sing us a song every day to cheer us up through these times; he countered with a suggestion I do the same, and while I knew I wasn't about to put a song online every day, I did share a couple, hoping to keep him going.  He leans toward folk-type music, which is really my first love in music, and he does some fantastic finger-picking on the guitar.  The last two songs I sang and shared on Facebook were old hymns, and I got a big, positive response from older people who miss those hymns as I do.  So I may do a few more of those on Sundays: I don't think my singing is anything special, but these are the hymns that comforted all of us senior citizens through hard times and cheered us on in good times.  I can't do all my favorites, simply because my guitar skills are very basic, and not every song sounds good with the way I beat out the chords on my guitar.  Somebody needs to preserve them, rather than tossing them out like so much garbage just because they were written in King James English.  So that's been a fun little project, and I enjoy hearing Jim sing his songs first thing in the mornings, too.  He's put enough on Facebook at this point that I can always go back and listen to them again.

The clinic we go to called me last week to let me know I'm due for my annual medicare physical, and made me an appointment for today.  I was told to wear a mask.  When I got there, I saw everyone had a mask on, even the nurses in the exam room.  First of all, I filled out a form with questions like "do you feel safe at home" and "have you fallen in the last six months".  I have no problem with that.  

When I was escorted into the exam room, a nurse took my vitals as always.  But when she's finished that, she tells me she's going to give me three words and see if I can remember them later.  That's the part that makes me nervous.

Cliff had his first Medicare physical three or four years ago; for some reason, even though I'm a year older than he is, the clinic never called me that year.  But Cliff told me about the three-word test, and said he only got one word right.  At the time I thought, "No way will I ever pass that test.  I couldn't remember people's names worth a hoot when I was young."  So I worried the rest of that year and never got a call, but the next year I did, and as I thought about the word-test, I came up with a solution:  I love stories.  I remember stories, and story-tellers, for decades after I  hear them.  So I decided when that nurse gives me my words and tells me to repeat them, I'll quickly write a one-sentence story in my head with those three words.

As easy as that might seem, there's one problem:  You have to be a very quick story-writer, because the minute you repeat your three words, the nurse will distract you with questions about unrelated questions about your health.  Today's words were sunrise, banana, and chair.  Instantly I thought, "I ate a banana in the sunrise sitting in a chair."  And folks, when she asked me what my words were, that sentence is what I gave her.  She gave me a large smile, and I said, "That's the only way I'd ever remember the words."  

"Hey," she said, "we don't care how you remember them, just so you know them when we ask."

Feel free to use my word trick, my senior friends.  It's even been approved by a nurse.  And now you younger folks know what's in your future, so you'd better learn to make stories up real fast in your head!  I could write a book on what your future holds, but you don't want to hear it, believe me.  It's better to be surprised by leaks and squeaks and tired bones that to have thoughts floating around in your head making you worry; besides, you might luck out and die young.

I'm kidding.  Be good to yourself, won't you?  

Cliff mowed Saturday

As I walk around what's left of our tiny pond, it's fun to see all the varmint tracks.

We're having a rainstorm

Yes, there's rain falling and wind blowing outside as I write this.  The lights are flickering a little, but so far no outage.  As for the rain, I'm happy to see it; we've been very dry.  You can water a garden all you like, but it isn't the same as a good rain.  We live in a trailer house, so I could do without the wind.

I have never had such a longing for a road trip!  But really, what destination would you choose during a pandemic?  Where would you go?  If we were going to be gone for more that 18 hours, we'd have to stay in a hotel.  Would that be safe?  Anyplace I might want to visit, there are people who might give me the plague.  

I get confused about who to believe anyhow.  At least half the folks I see on Facebook make fun of the "sheep" who allow the government to tell them what they can and cannot do, and those folks are really rude about it.  Fifteen times a day I start hoping, for a split second, that they all catch the virus, then I immediately repent and apologize to God and ask Him to help me not be so childish.  But who do they think they are, to think they know better than doctors and scientists what people ought to do?  I don't like being called names.  I don't care what they do, but I don't like being made fun of for doing what is supposed to be the right thing.  I think our president has set an example that makes it ok for people to call names and throw stones at everybody.  

OK, I vented; now I feel better.  I'll probably kick myself later for having an opinion, return to my blog, and delete that last paragraph.

Cliff happened to stumble across a chart on Facebook showing which stores have special hours for seniors during the coronavirus scare, and he read off some of the stores' names to me.  I told him I knew about that, but I didn't want to make him get up at 6 AM just to go to Costco; he said that wouldn't be a problem.  So this morning I said, "Tuesday is one of the days Costco opens for seniors; I think we'll go there tomorrow."

"What are you going to get?" he asked me.

Try as I might, I couldn't think of one item we needed from Costco, or anywhere else, really.  So I guess I'll wait until we actually NEED to go.  See?  I want to go someplace, but don't have anywhere to go while all the interesting activities are on pause.  This would be a wonderful time to have a cabin at the lake.  I won't even mention the places one could go in a camper, because finally, once and for all, I realize a camper is not going to be part of our lives.  Cliff isn't up to messing with it, and honestly, it isn't fun for me any more either.  Memories of camping are pleasant, but the memories come from a time when I wasn't this old, sore, and tired.  

Honestly, I like our little routines around here.  There are certain shows we watch together at certain times of the day; we both have books to read... life goes on.  The weather has been beautiful for my daily walks.  I'm glad I walked early today, because now it's probably wet and muddy out there  When we ate dinner at noon, we watched our recorded episode of "Call the Midwife".  We still have two more seasons of West Wing to watch, and I dread thinking about how I'll miss it when we've seen it all for the second time.  Last Saturday night our local Fox TV station showed the Super Bowl over again, so we enjoyed re-watching our team win.

One change I made over the weekend:  I told some of our immediate family they can come in the house to visit.  Our daughter is working from home.  The grandson and son-in-law go to work every day, but the place they both work keeps a close eye on things.  They take their temperatures each day when they arrive; anyone with a fever gets two weeks off with pay.  One fellow called in to say his wife had a fever and gets to stay home with pay.  Unless you have plenty to keep you busy at home, though, it's a lousy time for a paid vacation when there's nowhere to go.

This entry is short and sweet (or maybe sour?) but it's all I have.  I'll try to get an actual subject next time, and try to stay out of politics.  

God bless you, every one.  By the way, the rain is over now, the sky is clearing, and we have a little over 1/2 inch of rain in the gauge.  That'll make the seeds come up.

I'll leave you with a video I made of the chicks playing outside; after watching it, you can decide if I should trust Gabe with them.  I think you'll come to the same conclusion I did.

Things Cliff and I talk about

I've often told folks that Cliff and I have our best laughs while we're in bed, which generally elicits laughter from the people I'm talking to at the time.  Get your mind out of the gutter, people!  While some of our bedroom conversations get a little on the risqué side, most of them aren't X-rated.

A few months ago I got to thinking how we used to have those fun little talks, and realized these days we really don't have the opportunity to do that:  I go to bed at nine, usually, and get up around 3 o'clock.  Cliff comes to bed at 10:30 or later.  We do have plenty of good, funny conversations throughout the day, but not like our bedroom talks.  Cliff can find humor in any situation, and having been under his tutelage for so many years, I've gotten pretty good at it myself.  Please understand, I can't quite say the same things to others that I do to Cliff, because others might take offense.  

I have enough problem with saying inappropriate things at the wrong time without adding fuel to the fire.  

Anyway, I finally decided we are not on a schedule around here.  For years I have been waking Cliff at 7 AM, per his request; arthritis starts hurting him pretty bad if he lays in bed too long.  But in my morning thoughts back in January, it struck me how much I missed our bedroom talks, along with the leisurely snuggling, and decided to crawl in bed with him to wake him up every day.  He is terribly deaf, and this is made worse on days when tinnitus is roaring in his head; but if the arthritis in his right shoulder isn't too terrible, and he turns his head so his right ear isn't against the pillow, and I talk loudly (that comes naturally for me), we can converse without his hearing aids in place.

Even with all those "ifs", I feel somewhat younger laying there talking like we did back in the olden days, with no reason to get up until we're good and ready.

I believe we've almost honed our morning comedy routine enough that we're ready to go on the road with our act, if they'll let us bring our bed.  Here are random things we had opinions about this morning.

The TV was playing as we lay there; I saw Quinton Lucas, the wonderful mayor of Kansas City, talking about which businesses in town could open up and what ones couldn't (bars, for one thing, can't open yet).  "Cliff," I told him, "if that man isn't president 20 years from now, I would be very surprised."  (Not that I'll be living to see it.)

Cliff agreed the mayor seems very amiable and intelligent.  You folks google him and you'll see what I mean.  Well, all except for my friends who never vote Democrat; and I do understand and share your feelings about abortion.  I'd still vote for him, though, if he turned out to be as good a person as he seems.  I know, nobody's perfect.  *sigh*

About that time, the weather lady came on TV.  I lifted my head off the pillow to look, and said, "Good grief, the weather lady looks like maybe her dress was showing too much of her shoulders so some man gave her his suit jacket!"  

Cliff lifted his head up to look and said, "Yeah, and her hair looks like she just crawled out of the back seat of a Plymouth, and she's wearing a house-dress."

Later I mentioned the fact that Patrick Mahomes is going to stay in Kansas City for at least 5 more years.  "Well," he mused, "he'll be OK if he doesn't beat his wife."  I submitted that Patrick seems like too a nice a person for that, intelligent and kind.  But after thinking about it, I said, "He did get awfully drunk at the celebration parade this year, so who knows what someone will do when he's drunk." 

That somehow led us to O.J. Simpson and how everybody knew he did it, but he got by with it.  Cliff said, "Yeah, but you know, the glove didn't fit; that's why he got off."  So I went through the motions of a person grunting and groaning, acting like she is puffing and panting from pulling so hard on that glove that obviously fits.

But I can't tell you what our biggest laughs were, and I mean real belly laughs that lasted for five minutes  We got to talking about Tony, the guy Cliff used to ride to work with before he retired.  Tony has strong opinions on everything, and Cliff said between the two of them they solved all the world's problems going to and from work together... for instance, there would be no child molesters in prison if it were up to them (hint:  using their methods, there wouldn't BE any child molesters).  One time they got into a controversial topic and Tony said the funniest one-liner I've heard in my life.  I can't tell you what it was because (1)  There is a bad word in what he said, and (2) it was a controversial topic.  

But I haven't laughed that hard in years.  

Have a great day, folks.  And if you are old, and you haven't been laying in bed talking to your husband, you might want to try it.  Even if you aren't comedians like me and my husband.