Such Is Life.....

1. On the keyboard of life, always keep one finger on the "escape" key.

2. Remember, when someone annoys you, it takes 42 muscles in your face to frown. BUT, it takes only four muscles to extend your arm and smack that asshole upside the head.

3. Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.

4. The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four people is suffering from mental illness. Think of your three best friends - if they're okay, then it's you.

5. The easiest way of finding something lost around the house is to buy a replacement.

6. Some people are like Slinkies.....not really good for anything, but you still can't help but giggle when you see one tumble down the stairs.

7. Some days you are the bug, some days you are the windshield.

8. In the 60's people took acid to make the world look weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make the world look normal.

9. If you must choose between two evils, pick the one you've never tried before.

10. Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you are a mile away and you have their shoes. 

11. Just remember.....if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.  

Tomorrow: Put on your cowboy boots, saddle up and join me for my leg of the journey - Humor Bloggers Dot Com Virtual Road Trip - Phoenix, AZ.

Hunting Near An Active Volcano Is Dangerous

I was out earlier this week checking the progress of the citrus trees. I am excited by the number of fresh, juicy oranges, lemons and grapefruits that will soon be ripe for the pickin’. While taking inventory, a shot rang out. I ducked! Seconds later, more shots. I hit the ground! Holy shit!

Laying on the ground and biting the dust during shotgun fire is a weird experience. All kinds of things run through your mind – like, when is it safe to stand to a crouch and run like hell for cover. After a few minutes, I bravely headed back up to the house. Half way to the security of hiding in my bathroom with the door locked, another shot rang out. And, it was much closer than the previous shots. I hit the ground…again!

If I could just reach my truck, I would honk the horn to let them know there are people in the general vicinity. I began crawling along the ground like Rambo. Man, am I out of shape! Belly-crawling takes a lot of energy, especially when your heart is already pumping 90-to-nothing. Okay, I…can…make…it. Not to mention, this would be an inopportune time to meet up with, yep, a rattlesnake. I had to put that fear behind me and continue crawling.

I finally made it to the truck, but why in this world did I lock the damn thing? I’m out in the middle of nowhere, last check - zero crime. Just a little further and I’d be in the house. (And, speaking of bathrooms…) I finally reached the door, whew, safe and sound. I grabbed the keys and ran back to the truck as if I were Flo Jo and could outrun the spray of speeding pellets. Adrenaline, obviously, gives me a false sense of my true abilities. What a rush!

Looking like some whacked out cartoon character - dirt on my face and clothing, darting from cactus-to-cactus and then fumbling with the keys - just to honk the horn. I decided to play a little tune rather than laying on it, figuring they’d think someone was in trouble and come running to help. So, I played “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”. I kind of got into it, I was singing along as I beeped. It was a difficult selection to play on the truck-horn, but effective nonetheless.

I did have enough sense about me to know they weren’t shooting at me, I hoped. But, who wants to be in the line of fire? I walked back into the house and checked the Arizona Game and Fish site and discovered it was deer season. (Reminder to self: Print and post hunting schedules to refrigerator.) The landscaping hides the ranch house from all angles, they probably weren’t aware they were so close to anyone’s home. I’m sure they were aware after my tribute to AC/DC.

As I thought more about the hunters, I decided putting signs up along the property line might be a good thing. I wondered what would capture their attention. You know, so they’d be more careful. I went back to the computer and began designing warnings to hunters. Here’s a few I have placed in clear plastic sleeves and posted along the fence:

PRIVATE PROPERTY
KEEP OUT
If You Want To Keep Your Privates

WARNING
Hunting Near An Active
Volcano Is Dangerous!

DANGER
Armed Wildlife
On The Premises

And, my personal favorite…

LISTEN UP!
I Don’t Hunt in Your Front Yard
Don’t You Dare Hunt In Mine!

I can only assume these signs are working, no shots have been fired anywhere near the ranch since their placement. And, if I do here shots again, I already have my next truck-horn song prepared – “Janie’s Got A Gun”. I did hear a truck stop down on the road late this afternoon. It was really quiet and out of the silence came laughter from a couple of guys - the truck then pulled away. I high-fived myself and went about gathering wood for my evening fire. Ahhhh, life here at the ranch is good.

Related Posts:
Meanwhile Back At The Ranch…
Call Me Ellie Mae!
Western Daze

Makin' Lemonade From Lemons!

My lemon tree is full of luscious fruit...

just ripe for the pickin'!

It's humbling when your time and effort by blogging actually inspires others. This morning I was nominated for the "Lemonade Award" by Red, SassynSappy. I am thrilled and also touched that someone recognized my struggle and my triumph in my post, Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch...

I am inspired by the many who share their story by writing or through their art within this community. They are givers. I'm constantly amazed. I am passing this award nomination along to those who have touched me, made me laugh and/or "wowed" me. Thank you!

Midwest Mom

Baby Bundles International

O My Word!

Life As I Know It

Cancer Isn't Scary

Diabetes Chat

Earth To Holly

Naked In Eden

Wasted Lola

Manduke Journal

Wacky Wednesday! - Banned From Wal-Mart

From My Inbox...
Recently retired, Mr. Dunbar was forced to accompany his wife while shopping. He found it uneventful. His antics to fight boredom caused he and his wife to be banned from Wal-Mart.


Dear Mrs. Dunbar,

Over the past six months, your husband has been causing quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against Mr. Dunbar are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras.

1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's carts when they weren't looking.

2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

3. July 7: Made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away.'

5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&M's on layaway.

6. August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

7. August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told other shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department.

8. August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?'

9. September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.

10. September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.

11. October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the ' Mission Impossible' theme.

12. October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his 'Madonna look' by using different sizes of funnels.

13. October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'

14. October 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!' And last, but not least ..........

15. October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile, then yelled very loudly, 'Hey! There's no toilet paper in here!'

Western Daze

Things here at the ranch are becoming somewhat routine. Like the herd of 30-some-odd javelina that come through daily, the skunk that comes to the door nightly and the occasional sighting of wild burros. However, last night and early this morning were definitely out of the ordinary.

Around 2 AM I awoke to the sounds of howling, squealing and barking. I grabbed a flashlight to investigate, opened my window and no more than thirty feet away was a pack of 12 or so coyote. Okay, its nothing more than a pack of coyotes having a feeding frenzy. A couple of them actually paused for a few seconds and stared into the light then returned to their feeding. This went on for about 20 minutes before they left my front yard to find other prey.

I went back to bed and, just as I was returning to my dream-state, I heard the yelping of a young pup, he had been left behind. Oh, boy. This pup carried on for, what seemed like, forever. I figured, with the pack just down the canyon, they would return to rescue the little fella. But, no! It was 6 AM when quietness finally returned to the canyon.

As soon as the sun was up, I went out to the front yard looking for whatever. Interestingly enough, the coyotes left no trace. No carcass, not a bone, nothing. Okay, at least they left the place clean. I went up to the porch swing to finish my coffee. I was watching a hawk hunt when I heard, "Hello to the house". Huh? Now, wait a minute, what in the hell is someone doing out here at this time of the morning? And, on foot?

I walked down the front steps and looked across the orchard towards the gate. I could see a young man dressed in cammies standing at the gate. So, I hollered back, "How can I help you?" He proceeded to tell me that he had high-centered his truck yesterday up in Walker's Gulch and had no cell signal to call for help. Well, no shit you don't have a cell signal; you are at least 45 minutes from the closest highway and you're surrounded by mountains. "Come on up", I invited him. As he approached the house, I knew he was harmless.

He was a clean cut guy in his mid-twenties; newly married, I figured, still wearing his wedding band. He told me it got dark on him fast and he had slept in his truck. I invited him in to use the phone to call his wife plus I gave him a cup of coffee. I offered to take him to his truck to give him the nudge he needed to start his way back home. He grabbed his backpack and, as he swung it over his shoulder, I noticed the .45 on his belt. Great, I thought! "I'll grab my gun and meet you outside." Once inside the truck he asked, "Seen many rattlesnakes?" Jeeeeeez!

We headed up the canyon and I played tour guide. "Yep, this ranch over here is 2460 acres and this one over here is 16,640 acres - largest operating ranch in Arizona." The road is single lane and winds through the main wash of the canyon. It's rocky and, in places, you hold your breath. We met up with a few cows along the way that were headed to the watering tanks. About a half hour later we arrived where his truck sat. I checked my odometer, good grief, this guy had walked 6.2 miles. We hooked a strap between our bumpers and jacked his truck up a bit to allow for clearance over the rocks. And, in a matter of minutes, he backed right out of the mess he was in. We then made our way back to the ranch without incident.

As I entered my drive, I honked and waved and he stopped to thank me once again. I came back up to the house, still a little dazed from the lack of sleep from the night before and this morning's adventure, I decided to rest. All-in-all, it was another beautiful, peaceful day.

Related Posts: Meanwhile Back At the Ranch and Call Me Ellie Mae!

Wacky Wednesday! Weddings

Wacky Wednesday! Weddings

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch...

For the past several months, my mind has been racing. How can I persevere during these tenuous economic times? I truly believe we all need to take a closer look at our situations and hang on only to what is absolutely necessary.

I remember wanting to "live off the land" as early as my teens. To find a remote piece of ground far from the maddening crowd. To build a modest shelter, grow my own food and live a peaceful life. During my college days, I subscribed to Mother Earth News and bought the Firefox collection to prepare myself for a life of self-sufficiency, but those dreams quickly faded as I joined the status quo and began a life of accumulation and bad choices.

I worked, raised my children and then worked for corporate America some more. However, after a merger, or, dare I say, a hostile take over, my company stock was devalued. I watched my retirement vaporize. This was going to make the difference for me in my elder years, the difference between eating real food instead of cat food.

It's been seven years since I walked out on my mortgage banking career. I dabbled in creating art pieces, I looked to friends for odd jobs until I was taken under the wing and mentored by a local tradesman (whom I later married, but that's another story) in the art of construction for five years. Then, lo and behold, the bottom of the housing market began to rear its ugly head. What the fuck? I can frame up a house, put it in the dry, install drywall and do the finish work. My skills are useless in this market.

The past several months have been chaotic. I've been paralyzed by my circumstances. One night, however, I was able to see through the fog enough to develop a plan. To live that simple life I had once dreamed of. I was excited. I placed ads and emailed friends seeking a care taking position and in less than two months I had a solid offer. A long-time friend needed a caretaker for his 93 acre ranch 50 miles north of Phoenix.

This beautiful oasis sits deep in a canyon surrounded by saguaros and wildlife, plus a 40-ft waterfall when, and if, it ever rains. There's a huge rose garden with blossoms as big as my fist. An orchard with every fruit tree imaginable including the largest fig tree I've ever seen. Just next to the large garden spot is the grape arbor. All I have to do is move the water hose around and keep a vigil over the large 2-story adobe house.

The chicken coop needs some repair before I fill it with layers. And, I think I'll get a couple of sheep to help maintain the landscaping. Sounds perfect doesn't it? Well, it is, except for the god damn rattlesnakes. Jeez, I hate a fuckin' snake. I'm just waiting for the cold snap that will send them all deep into their dens until April. This will give me the time I need to walk around, make some improvements and prepare the garden for its bounty without having to worry about something slithering between my feet or rattling from a nearby bush.

Yea, me! My dreams and skills are now in place. I am comfortable and at peace.

He Feels the Need. The Need for Speed!

As a mother, all you want for your children is happiness and prosperity. And, when it comes to my son, he fills the bill. He's educated, independent and has a beautiful family of his own. He has also excelled in his career as a design engineer. What more could a mother ask for?

Since he was a little boy, Zac, has been a daredevil. It all started with his big wheel. It wasn't enough to peddle himself along the sidewalk, he had to find a hill to ride down; peddling with all his might he'd zoom down the hills faster than a speeding bullet. Oh, his outfit of choice - superman underoos with a towel-cape pinned to his shoulders along with a pair of cowboy boots. Weeeeeeee! Get the picture?

Zac went through a number of bicycles and obtained the usual scrapes and bruises; however, nothing a little Bactine and a Bandaid couldn't fix. Then we went through our on-the-way-to-the-hospital-for-stitches phase. After two visits in one month, it was suggested by the ER physician that I chain Zac to the bed for the next few years. Yeah, right.

He then moved on to horses. Zac had what I referred to as "Black Beauty Syndrome". He would mount up (yep, still wearing cowboy boots) and off he'd ride at a dead run. I would remind him that were other gaits his pony was capable of; he ignored me. One afternoon his pony, Scout, decided to show Zac a thing or two - he ran away - out of control - with Zac holding on for dear life. "Pull back", I yelled as they neared the fence. Scout stopped just short of the fence and Zac flew head first into the barbed-wire strands. Twenty-six stitches later, I restricted his riding.

Then came a series of four-wheelers and motorcycles...I held my breath. Aside from one minor accident, he made it through okay. Shortly after graduating from high school, Zac stripped the inside of his car, added nitros and participated in the 1/4-mile drags at the local raceway. He was awesome on the track; but, he did get a few tickets on the streets and roads for exhibition of speed. One night, as a friend and I listened to the police scanner, we heard the state police receiving registration and insurance verification for, none other than, Zac.

His fascination for speed was never really satisfied until he began racing motorcycles on a flat track at 185 mph. The first time I went to the track to support my son in his latest thrill, well, I was taken aback by the equipment required - a one-piece, fully padded leather suit, heavy-duty leather gloves, special boots and, of course, a full helmet. He looked like a storm trooper.

So, I asked him to explain the object and the rules of the race. Remember, he's an engineer; his response turned into a dissertation, "First, you buy a bike...blah, blah, blah". However, the glaze cleared from my eyes when he began to talk about "the rush".....

"It starts 15 minutes before you are called to the grid. That nervous anticipation/excitement of putting your ass on the line to show your stuff and live out your dream. Then you roll out for the warm-up lap. Your excitement turns into sharp focus as you circle the track and line up in the grid. Now, the adrenaline really kicks in. The countdown starts with a two, then one - it can't happen fast enough. You are waiting for the release. Then it comes. GREEN! You do your best to get the throttle pinned and the clutch out. You tip into turn one with five to ten other lunatics hell bent on being first, you stake your claim and then rip the shit out of it!"

Good, lord!

Funny, I still see that little boy with the towel-cape as he laps the track. No doubt, he was born with the need. The need for speed!

NOTE: For those residing in the Phoenix area, Zac King (#64) will be featured in an article and pictorial in the November issue of Playtime magazine. Or, if you enjoy the thrill of racing, come out to the Firebird Raceway November, 16th for the Championship Cup Series (www.roadracesw.com). And, my special thanks to Tom Marrs for the photos posted here.

Gambling and Excessive Sexual Urges?

Last night I was enjoying TIVO - catching up on several TV programs I had missed during the past week. The beauty of TIVO is you can skip the commercials that ordinarily demand your absolute attention and, subsequently, turn us into zombie-like consumers. During a trip to the kitchen (okay, so I gave into a commercial for popcorn), I overheard an ad for Restless Legs Syndrome (RLS).

At first I was numb to the agony of such an affliction, but what really drew my attention was the list of side effects for the medication recommended to ease the symptoms. There were the usual: nausea, headaches and dizziness. But, as the announcer continued listing the side effects talking as fast as he could so maybe you wouldn't catch exactly what he was saying, I was dazed and confused.

• "You may fall asleep without warning during daily activities such as driving." If texting drivers aren't bad enough, now we have to worry about those behind the wheel with RLS?
• "If you have urges that lead to pathological gambling and/or excessive/inappropriate sexual activity, contact your physician at once." This one leaves me half-tempted to visit a local casino to conduct a poll of couples leaving together. I'd give them my best in-the-name-of-medical-research posture and, with all the seriousness I could possibly muster, ask, "Excuse me, are either of you currently taking medication for RLS?".
• "Hallucinations." Hallucinations? Yes, the FDA has approved this medication. Can you imagine the patients that participated in the test studies? "Legs, what legs?". "I can fly!".

I returned to watching The Cho Show and empathized with Margaret during the episode about her writer's block; however, her attempt to relieve this type of block with a colonic is nothing I've ever considered when I need to get past my blocks. Anyway, my mind kept drifting back to that commercial and the side effects listed. Just what is in this medication and how does it relate to the treatment of RLS? Watching the TIVO-ed ad over and over wasn't answering my questions. It was time for me to conduct my own independent research.

RLS is a severe and often disabling neurological disorder which afflicts 10-15% of the general population due to dopaminergic abnormalities. The medications for treating RLS contain dopamine. Of course, it's dopaminergic drugs that bring on these unwelcomed (or welcomed) side effects according to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, AZ.

So, as you're trying to sleep and your legs are performing a smashing rendition of Michael Flatley's River Dance, the medication could possibly trick your mind into believing that you are much better off falling asleep at the throttle when attempting to land your Buick at the casino for slots and sluts.

Sad, but true.

Kool-Aid - The Official Drink of the Ghetto?

I am 50-something and, recently, it was brought to my attention that drinking Kool-Aid is ghetto. How in the world did I miss this endorsement?

As kids we were treated to Fizzies soft drink tablets. These magical tablets more often ended on our tongues rather than in a tall glass of water. My younger sisters and I would run through the house snarling at one another with various colors of foam oozing from our mouths as we pretended to be rabid animals. No wonder there were those times when our mother would throw up her hands and, for a brief moment, surrender to our “un-lady-like” behavior. Days would then go by without our afternoon Fizzies frenzy. Enough of this prohibition; we would drag a chair from the dining table to the kitchen counter. As one of us would climb up to search the cabinets, the other two would serve as lookouts and wait for the victory cry, “Found ‘em!”.

One Saturday morning, during our ritual cartoon marathon, we were introduced to a giant talking pitcher as it crashed through the garden wall, “Oh, yeah”. The kids in the commercial were happy and having lots of fun and the mom seemed very pleased as she poured glasses of this icy concoction. How could we get our hands on this new drink? This drink called Kool-Aid was sure to change our lives.

The older we became the less we were invited to participate in the family grocery shopping. I guess our mother began to tire of her basket being filled with boxes of the latest sugar coated cereals and forbidden snacks. Not to mention the scene at the checkout with three whining kids as she set aside the items she had not placed in her basket. It did, however, take her several trips to realize it was her “seen-not-heard” daughters placing those unwanted items because she would blame other shoppers for mistaking her basket for theirs. We knew tagging along with her to the market was not an option.

We set about our plan to obtain this life-changing refreshment. We tried peer pressure, “Vicki’s mother buys Kool-Aid and so does Linda and Debbie’s mom”. She ignored us. We also tried, “They say Kool-Aid is good for you”. That didn’t work either. Still faced with the quest of obtaining our drink mix, we remembered Mother jotting down a list before leaving for the market. This list would rest on top of a stack of McCall’s and Woman’s Day magazines for several days as she poured through the pages discovering new recipes. We would simply add Kool-Aid to her list. And, with very little thought, we’d use forgery.

I tore three pages from my Big Chief tablet and, with her list in front of us, we gave our creative best to copy her cursive writing. Oddly, it was the youngest (only 4 years old) that seemed to have the artistic ability to forge Mother’s handwriting. Well, sort of, okay…not really, but she was the “baby” and the least likely to get in trouble if our scheme was discovered. She took Mother’s pen and carefully scrawled our request to the bottom of the list. Then, giggling all the way, we ran to my bedroom, closed the door behind us and hid under the bed. We were excited! We were scared!

The next day we noticed the list was gone. Had she been to the market? Was the Kool-Aid up in the cabinets? No. Our daddy had taken the list. We waited outside for Daddy’s return and offered to wag the bags from the car to the kitchen. After the first trip I remained behind to do some snooping. I rustled through the bags until my eyes finally focused on the brightly colored envelopes. I swear, the angels began to sing as I pulled the Holy Grail from the bag; our quest for the coveted drink mix was over.

Lo and behold our lives began to change. We were no longer forgers; we were now entrepreneurs. We set up a folding card table and taped a sign to it that announced our Kool-Aid stand was open for business. We sat diligently, waved at all the passers-by until they had to stop for a refreshing glass - it was delicious. We had regular customers and we were rolling in the dough. On really hot days we offered popsicles made from Kool-Aid we had frozen in our molds. We blended flavors together for new taste sensations. We were happy and having lots of fun.

Yes, there have been times in my life where I put aside my Kool-Aid for the sophistication of more adult-like drinks, but I always came back. I raised my children on Kool-Aid. Even as I write this piece, I am enjoying a Kool-Aid cocktail made by blending mango and cherry flavors. Now, I ask you, when did drinking Kool-Aid become ghetto?