Deadwood Forest and the Eastern Heights

I made a marvelous discovery today while mowing in the Deadwood Forest. Under the swooping branches of Grand ole Pecan, uncomfortably near the beached whale, (Please, don't ask me what a beached whale was doing in a forest; it's a mystery. Leave it at that.) I spotted a fragment of old parchment. The runes and diagrams were difficult to decipher, but I managed to read "...how to tie a rapala knot'. Thinking this might refer to a magic rope, I switched on the rope-detecting antennae. Sure enough, hanging from one of the lowest branches, was a knotted rope. Someone had been practicing. Upon turning the parchment over, however, I was able to decipher another phrase, "How to tune a rapala." Could it be that a rapala is a musical instrument, maybe the same one that lured the poor whale to his death here under the overhanging branches in Deadwood Forest?

The crude fish-shaped diagram on the paper fragment seemed to bear that out.

It was all too dark and drastic--an early morning mystery shrouded in a riddle cloaked in a puzzle under the shadow of an enigma.

I decided it was time for that second cup of coffee.

All is Never Quiet on the Western Front

I wish I could say that everything was quiet out on the Western Wilds this morning, but alas, things are never quiet on the Western Front. (Not even historically.)*
My lawn ship kept bumping into a steady barrage of asteroids and trash excreted by the messy Sycamore planets, not the least of which were puffball mines.
Being near the skylane, I had to watch for large transport vessels with solitary, sleepy pilots at the wheels. It was a clattering chore.

Cedar Flats, on the other hand, was very calm--deceptively calm, it turned out. They came at me with the little-understood sinus attack and I was forced to retreat to the fortress for supplies. Since I had no white flag to raise (I had used it already at the onset of the sneeze barrage) I was pursued and pelted with cedar histamines. Whew. What a morning!





*Yes, that's a thinly-veiled allusion to California.
Go ahead and protest, Californians, because in doing so, you will only prove my point.

Wit

Our Sunday Scribblings prompt was: wit, but it was suggested that we pair it with something like "grace". Now I understand that if you really want to be known as a wit, you need a little grace to keep from overdoing it...and if you are subjected to too much "wit" you must have grace to keep smiling pleasantly, but other than that? Well, wits failed me.

 I think I'll write a limerick about it all...

She was known as an elegant wit
Understated, demure, like a Brit
She skewered with grace
And smiled in one's face
As she roasted them there on the spit.

Such an innocent-eyed little chit
Whose jokes were "in fun" and "that's it"
Her victims all smiled
As she stabbed and beguiled.
But they secretly called her a twit.

Deeds of Daring Don't

Inside I'm a dreamer, it's true
But the dreams that I dream, I don't do
Lost caverns are deep
High mountains are steep
Those conquests I've left up to you*

Rhyming Quandary in a Limerick

An elderly fellow named James
Complained, upon seeing the Thames,
I can't understand
All the guides in this land
They certainly can't pronounce names!

Bump In The Night

At two o'clock in the morning--back when my husband was young and brave and impetuous--we heard a fearsome bumping in the basement. Since the door to our cellar opened onto the back porch, and the door to the back porch had a latch that didn't work well, anybody could have sneaked into that damp hole under the house. Who knew...maybe an antique dealer was going to dig for old medicine bottles down there, or maybe some big-time second-hand appliance dealer wanted our nearly new hot water heater. This called for rapid intervention. There was no time for panic. Grabbing up the nearest weapon, my superhero in the undies but minus the cape, bounded out the back door, down the stairs to the basement and strung an arrow into his compound bow. It was dark. There were two eyes shining in the corner--over by the hot water heater (my second guess seemed nearer the truth). He aimed and shouted as he used his elbow to turn on the light. One very puny kitten, pale and petrified, trembled before potential impalement. Disappointed, the Lord of the manor lowered his mighty bow as the cat streaked between his legs and ran back out into the night.

"It was a cat," he said sheepishly as he returned to the bedroom, "a very small one."
"Good," I yawned, four-fifths asleep.
"Not very exciting, though," he complained.
"Could have been. It could have been a skunk."
"True. True. Why do you have to be so uninspiring."
"Cause I'm sleeping. It's two in the morning, and all sane people are sleeping."
"Sigh." He crawled back into bed. But he left the bow leaning against the wall...just in case.

Sunday Scribblings

Secret Garden

As teachers, we get invited to a lot of banquets--alumni banquets, school supporter banquets, and student-council extravaganzas. It's always difficult to know what to wear to these last ones. Who can afford the kind of prom dresses that disguise how old you have become and how stodgy? So a couple other teachers and I have found our own solution. We play masquerade.
The STUCO banquet this year was themed "Secret Garden", so we dressed as the characters in that book. Our principal was the gardener, his wife, our Spanish teacher, was the dignified housekeeper, and I was a visiting friend. My husband was easily enticed into coming because he just happened to have bought a tuxedo last July. I didn't tell him he would be going with a strangely dressed woman until the last minute. He was embarassed, but suffered with good humor. Ah well. Next year we are going to see if more teachers will join us in theme dressing. (I just hope they don't decide to have a luau. A grass skirt would be out of the question...and so would flowered flip flops...maybe I could be a tourist.) Hmmm.

Valentine Limerick

It was written in silver graffiti:
"I can't live without you, my Sweetie,
I pine and I languish;
extinguish my anguish
and sail with me out to Tahiti"

Beneath it was painted in yellow:
"Although you're an eloquent fellow,
I cannot abide
a torrent or tide
And I'd rather have someone more mellow."

For Mad Kane's Valentine Challenge

A Thursday Thirteen Meme

Follow the instructions to come up with 13 pseudonyms for yourself. The following are mine:

1. Your rock star name (first pet, current car)
Sneezix La Saber

2. Your gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe)
Coconut Crocs

3. Your Native American name (favorite color, favorite animal)
Scarlet Kitten

4. Your soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born)
Annie Magnolia (Not exactly true, but internet anonymity must be considered)

5. Your Star Wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name)
Lixli (See #4)

6. Superhero name (2nd favorite color, favorite drink)
Emerald Coffee (yeech!)

7. NASCAR name (Made from names of your grandfathers)
Lloyd Elijah Paul

8. Your cooking show host name (A cooking activity, a favorite vegetable)
Broiling Potatoes

9. TV weather anchor name (your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter) Montezuma Monroe

10. Science Fiction Writer Pseudonym ( a planet name, an descriptive adjective beginning with the same letter)
Mars Magnanimous

11. Spy name (your favorite season/holiday, flower)
Spring Lilacs

12. Cartoon name: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now)
Banana Belt

13. Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree)
Toast Oak

It's That Time of Year When...

...sweet remorse sets in because of all the overindulgences of the great November/December sugarfest. I sat here struggling with the woes of my computer (which sounds like more exercise than it is)consoling myself with an occasional teaspoon full of vanilla coconut spoon fudge, and finally decided it was time to face the inevitable. So I waddled up to the little gym on the square and slogged away for an hour--one round with the exercising machine dragons and nine chapters on the treadmill. For me, that's the only way to do it. Set the machine and start reading a good book. I don't know how long I walked past the end of the program and into the cool down cycle...Hey, it was an interesting book, although a little too eerie for my taste. What I really needed was a cheery, English countryside mystery a la Chesterton or Sayers or Christie. Dekker is a great author, but I prefer books that don't keep me looking over my shoulder. If things are happening to people far removed in social station or locale it doesn't seem as threatening, but this author uses names of towns I've been to, and his people are just ordinary citizens of the earth, people who eat too much candy at Christmas and go exercise to pay the price.

Silliness in Song while Studying for Semester Tests Tomorrow

Blame the Math Teacher.
He started it all by jotting down a math carol on the board for his dedicated Algebra I students. It went like this:

Math is fun. We like to do it.
fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.
It brings joy when we get through it.
fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.
All our homework, it is fun.
fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.
We are sad when it is done.
fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

So I had to write one on the other side of the board before my Christian Studies IV students got into the room.

(To the tune of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.")

It's time for some philosophy; it's time for ethics class
We're filling out our study sheets; and oh, we hope we pass
An anarchist, a hedonist, and an iconoclast,
Oh where is our comfort and joy; comfort and joy;
Oh where is our comfort and joy.

Then the sophomores came in, and well, you know how it goes.
Everybody wants their carol.

(To the tune of "Walking in a Winter Wonderland")

Sophomores sing, loud and giggly,
and their notes, they are squiggly,
They can't study today
So tomorrow they'll pray
Walking in Semester Testing Land

We have a verse. Who's going to say it?
There'll be a prayer. Who's going to pray it?
I think that it's time
to stop all this rhyme.
Walking in a Semester Wonderland.

Then the seventh and eighth grade boys requested Jingle Bells.

Junior high boys' Bible class
Keeps me on my toes
Trying to find a question that
not anybody knows--oh!
Junior high boys' Bible class
What a noisy bunch.
Always have their hands held high
until it's time for lunch.

And the Juniors...who were dreadfully sleepy today; I hope they are not all coming down with mononucleosis or African trypanosomiasis, although the chances of that are slim in this icy weather.

Have yourselves a merry little nap time
Rest there on your desks
Just pretend I'm not up here reviewing tests.
And have yourselves a nap time of the very best.

(Well, we did accomplish something. We voted to bring a Dr. Pepper the day of the test...just so they can stay awake through that. ) Yawn. I think maybe I'll bring one too.

And finally...my tiny little girls class at the end of the day. They usually make good grades on everything, and they are intense when it comes to study time...so I had to wait until I got home to write one for them. Maybe they will log on and read it.

Once again--(To the tune of Jingle Bells)

We'll study til we drop....and even then won't stop
We'll learn these names and then...we'll learn them all again.
And when we see the test
We'll do our very best
As long as you don't deviate and ask about the rest.

Oh study sheets, study sheets,
All you need to know.
Never mind the textbooks
Let's throw them in the snow-oh!
If she wickedly throws in a lot of other stuff
We'll gleefully point this out to her
And so we'll call her bluff!

(Oops. Junior high students: if you are reading this, remember that section on the study guide that says simply: Know everything about Noah, Abraham, Jacob, Joseph and Moses. That's formidable. Oh, and bring your timelines to class. I'll let you use them for part of the test.)

Your Loving Teacher,
The Silly Rhymer Strikes Again

Whoops.

As a member of the Lions' Club, my husband is called upon, from time to time, to sell fund-raising tickets for a benevolence project: this time it was for building a skate park for our community children (who will probably still skateboard on the sidewalks and use the elderly for bowling pins, but that's irrelevant). Turtle, however, has a dilemma. It hardly seems appropriate for a minister to ask his congregation to buy raffle tickets.

He had to sell ten. They cost twenty dollars each. So, reluctantly, after a church dinner, he asked for twenty dollar donations for the Lion's club project. The ticket with your name on it, he would just present as an afterthought for those who donated. And then, as is usually the case, he bought the unsold ones himself...gotta support those Lions.

Yesterday, at the the Pumpkin Festival, in front of the entire town and half the population of the county, he won the grand prize for the raffle--a big screen TV--42 inches.

I have no idea where to put it. Right now we don't even have cable. There is a TV in the basement for watching DVD's, and a smaller one in the guest room for the WII. I just don't know...he wants to trade it for a Bass boat or a pontoon boat, but that would entail more money. I suggested we use it in the guest room for the Nintendo game, but he thinks that would be a waste. Our children say they will take it off our hands, but he isn't really open to that suggestion; after all, he has never won anything before. Ah Turtle.

P.S. Turtle reminded me that he did win something before, a tiny little black and white TV. But that was from putting his name in a jar at the hardware store when we lived in Matador, Texas. . . what is it with TV's? A laptop now, that would have been great. sigh.

Scary Words for Non-computer Nerds

Update! Do I Have To?

There are two terms that bring trepidation to my computing soul: power surge and new updates.

Our power isn't the most reliable here in the heart of Oklahoma; occasionally--most often during a high wind or winter ice storm--the electricity will fail. On rare occasions it will decide with its dying breath to seize my modem and drag it along to the grave for company. New modems aren't something I like to pick up with the groceries. They cost money and they may or may not work when you first install them. That's frustrating because you can't go online for the fix when the line is what's broken. Arrghh! However, when they do work, they work well. You see the three green lights all solidly on, and you experience the peace of a junkie waiting for the euphoria...well maybe that's carrying it a bit far, but you know what I mean.

The other problem isn't so simple: new updates. Now I realize that these should be met with wonder and glee: "Wow! What has Firefox come up with now? I can't wait to see!" "Oh, look at this: Google Earth has added a dimension; now we will be able to explore the seventh planet from the sun, if it is still a planet," but in my experience it's as risky as taking a random bottle from the medicine cabinet: "Oh wow, these little red pills look good for today, so round and harmless!" At least the manufacturers of those pills put all the "may cause" warnings: May cause violent stomach cramps and that other word that's hard to spell and harder to live through. The update people don't have those restrictions. And they are insistent: Everyone must be brought up to snuff. So I get tired of the messages popping up at the bottom of my screen: "You have 5 new updates ready to install". My hand hits the yes button before my mind is awake for the day...and I just lost the whole firefox option. It's gone. To gain internet access at all I have to go back to my former browser. Of course, that browser is miffed at me for having left it, so it won't remember all my passwords and proudly bring up my favorites. I lose "bloglines" and all my shortcuts and find myself having to access my blog through two other blogs...well you get the idea. But that's the least of my troubles; It seems my computer just took the opposite of the little red pills when it swallowed those updates. Lag lag lag. Arrghh! OK. Time for a system restore and a computer clean up operation. I'll have to be satisfied with googling earth in the old fashion way but my Firefox is smokin'.

There are Many Things in Life that I Cannot Understand

I know that's the first verse of a song somewhere, but it's also the theme for this Thursday Thirteen.

1. I don't understand why my clothes hamper never retains clothes. They gather around its feet in a worshipful pose and lie there limply on the floor. Strange.

















2. I don't understand how my sock basket gives birth to totally new socks, never twins, single odd socks that I never bought. They just appeared in the nebula of the sock galaxy. If you recognize any of these socks, claim it. Suspicious












3. I don't understand how anyone could possibly use 21 fishing rods.
That's right: 21. Even if you did inherit some, and bought some at garage sales, and were given some: the question is why must you keep them forever. Puzzling.














4. I don't understand why grass grows so well in the flower beds--trespassing over cement and risking sudden death at the clipper-equipped hand of an irate gardener to get there, and refuses to grow on certain spots of the lawn, where it's pampered. Irritating.













5. I don't understand what is so hard about putting
the new toilet paper on the roll when the old one
is finished. Am I the only one who does this? Confusing.
















6. I don't understand where nail clippers go when you need one.
There must be at least 21 pair of them around here. Maybe I need a rack to hang on the wall so I can hang them all side by side. Intriguing.





7. I don't understand why perfectly well-behaved, intelligent children, upon being introduced to an adult
--particularly an adult you want to impress--decide to talk gibberish and make faces while pretending to be an iguana. Amusing.








8. I don't understand how anyone prefers Nacho Libre to Casa Blanca.


Weird.










9. I don't understand how squash, with all those pretty colors and vitamins, isn't as alluring as plain old home made vanilla ice cream with its wicked empty calories. Tragic.














10. I don't understand what's better for a car that doesn't fit in the garage--parking under the trees and suffering bird splats or parking in the sun and getting bleached spots on the upholstery. Disconcerting.













11. I don't know why the telephone doesn't ring for twelve hours, then rings three times in five minutes...when you are out in the garage, painting something. Annoying.









12. I don't understand how the same recipe produces different results in different households...namely something delicious in somebody else's kitchen/ something indigestible in mine. Discouraging.











13. I don't understand how some people can come up with a Thursday Thirteen every week, but I have blank weeks when I just can't think...so you get stuff like this.
Amazing.

Just Desserts

Here are two limericks for Mad Kane's Humor Blog.
The topic was Food and Drink.

# 1

I ate your ice cream bars, he gloated
Creamy, and rich—chocolate coated!
Now you’re feeling trim,
But how about him?
Well he’s feeling lethargic and bloated.

#2

My stomach keeps calling for more
and no matter how much I deplore
the sugar sweet snacks,
I have to face facts:
Those rascals are winning the war!

So I like Oddities...

"Mom, it's just a terribly messed up cup I made the first year of clay class, a mistake."

"I think it's neat. How did you get the glaze to crack that way?"

"It cracked because it wasn't good glaze. It didn't work."

"Could you find that glaze again, because I like the way the face peeps out."

"No. I don't even know what kind it is; someone had mixed it and left it and it was ruined. That's why it didn't work."

"It looks a little like wood. How did you do that?"

"I had to stain it, and it wouldn't take an even stain. You can't even drink out of it. It's toxic."

"Well. I like it. It has personality. It will also remind you of the first year of clay class."

"I know."

Catching Up

It's interesting how the up on the end of words changes the meaning like it does. For instance, I could never title this post "catching". It would sound like an epidemic was running rampant.

It's Mother's Day, and I feel blessed to be a mother to my three unique children. True, they are grown up now, but they are always my children. Yesterday they all pitched in and helped me clean up the house. They guys took all of Elijah's clothes down to the local laundry place and washed them there, while I washed about seven loads here and hung them up. We all dusted and picked up stuff, scrubbed windows and sorted. I even cooked up a briskett.

Claye began to sort and clean her room/studio/ye olde curiosity shoppe. It's shaping up a little and might actually be livable in a week or two.

Babystepper and Art came over, with the two grand-babies. They really liven things up. They brought me some new glasses from Michigan and we exchanged them for the unmatched jelly jars and mugs that were filling up my cabinets.

All in all, it was a profitable, enjoyable day, thanks to some great family. Things are looking up.

I'll have to 'fess up though, that I tend to overuse the word "up". Do you think I'll use it up?
Hmm. I wonder why it's never confess up?

Mom's Black Purse

I have four sisters.
They live in North Carolina, Oklahoma, Dallas, Texas, and the Panhandle of Texas, (which is a different world than the rest of Texas). We seldom see each other, but every great now and then we do all manage to get together. Last year I was hosting a great Thanksgiving get-together, so I hurried out to buy groceries enough for the families. The check-out counter was loaded with turkey, ham, cottage cheese, dressing, sweet potatoes, and egg nog.

As I lifted my purse to the counter, I noticed how shabby it had become. My secret pal had given it to me the spring before, and I had used it all summer out of gratitude, but now as I frowned at the daisies on the navy background I made a decision...time for a new one. Hurrying over to the general store, I frantically searched for just the right one...not too big, not too little, lots of pockets, solid black, silver metal parts(so it will match the most outfits...the rest will just clash, ok.) It took me a while, but I finally found the one in the entire two aisles worth that I could tolerate and bought it on the spot.

Thanksgiving. They arrived. We ate, visited, did dishes, laughed, played Balderdash, all the things families do, until day was weary and evening approached.
Time to collect our purses and go. Mine was right here.

No wait. It seemed a little different. Was it mine? No. That's not my phone. That one over there? "That's mine," said my mom. I see the scarf...and we all started laughing. All the purses were black--not too big, or little, lots of pockets. Crazy sisters. My daughter brought hers out from under the table. Black. Not too big....lots of pockets

Is it possible to inherit a purse preference gene?
So if you are related to me, and haven't sent me a picture of your black purse yet, join this pile.

Words that Describe Me...Thursday Thirteen

This Week for Thursday Thirteen we were asked to choose a letter of the alphabet and then pick thirteen words, beginning with that letter that described us. I chose F.

Frumpy...yes, I'll admit it. I wear clothes like I'm the potatoes in the sack, and I keep the same comfortable shoes until they wear off my feet.

Friendly...only to a point, however.

I detest small talk, but I do smile at people. Does that count?

Family-oriented...I'm one of those who can discuss my family's faults, but don't like it when other people do, because I'm pretty--

Fierce when it comes to defending them. My husband calls me a mama bear.

Faithful. Once I come to a reasoned conclusion on beliefs and loyalties, I'm pretty difficult to shake away. ...
I didn't say impossible, but it takes earthquakes to budge me.

Famished. Usually, I can eat food.

Just about any food.

Therein lies a problem...

Fat. Unless I'm looking in one of those clever mirrors

they put in the dressing rooms of chic clothing stores

to make middle-aged dumpling shaped women

look like celery stalks,

I have to face facts.

Yes, that--all of that-- is little old roly poly me.

Futuristic. I like to launch my dreams way into the future. For instance: "When I'm retired, then I'll learn how to ski." (Skinny chance) or, "I'll sky dive later"...much later...when I'm immortal and don't need a parachute because you never know with parachutes who packed them and manufactured them and they just might not decide to work and then where would I be? Falling screamingly through the atmosphere?

(All you purists wincing out there, I know I sort of corrupted the meaning of the word, but I'm not a purist, or I would have picked the letter "P". Ok?)

Fearful. Can I help it if I have a superb imagination? I can see all those things that could happen and yikes! Life is scary for us dramatic imaginers.

Foreign. Wherever I am, I always feel a little foreign, like I really don't belong on this planet.

Favored. It amazes me that I've been so blessed in this life. I feel like I was born into the hand of God or something. No. not my doing. Just "Who Am I?" to deserve all this? No. not riches or fame or all the usual stuff...just so many people around me who care.

Feisty. Rather like a little chihuahua. Well, a plump little chihuahua that never catches up with the object of its fierch barkings.

Fuddy Duddy--yep, that's me. stuffy. old fashioned and conservative. Well, I'm not quite sure about the stuffy part actually...because every now and then I get all flamboyant and fire-breathing...but not often.

Dreamdays--and other Compound Flopflips

My grandson, on his walk yesterday, suddenly commented that he liked the "woodcottons".
Hmmm. Well it does take some learning to know which word of a compound word should appear first. Is cotton or wood the most important contribution to that tree name?

It started me thinking about compound words, and I decided to write a story misusing, transposing, if you will, several common compound words. There are thirteen.

(In honor of Thursday Thirteen)

See if you can spot them.


I was just a little snipe gutter, high knee to a hopper grass, when I escaped the crossing streets and found myself out in the glorious side country. There were fly butters out there, in the breeze, and on the ground by the grass crabs under the pigeon stools, I found a treasure of fish silvers and worm rings. The trees were alive with sucker saps, and between their roots were colorful stool toads. I heard a noise...a buzzing...ah... it was just a bunch of bug hums!

That was fun. I think I'll try a poem.
(Thirteen switched compounds again)

Back fiddles and will whippoors
give me bump geese
Space crawls and snake rattles terrify.
Give me a bird song or a box of plum sugars,
flake snows or bow rains through a light sky,
A dragon snap colored in cool marine aqua
or a proud, white lily water. Sigh.