Merry Christmas Coming

The tree shoppers and their purchase!



Up and in the stand!



Always need plenty of lights!



After all the ornaments, the finishing touch!


True to our tradition of Thanksgiving weekend, the Christmas tree goes up on Friday.  This year our helpers are proficient decorators and completed the joyful job in record time.

Thanksgiving

Our turkey day philosophy has always been not to mess with our traditional menu tried and true. However, this year we decided to shake things up and prepare only our outstanding favorites for Thursday and fix other dishes over the weekend. Who ever feasted on the raw veggies? And green bean casserole was never successful at assuaging any guilt. 

Seven people, seven votes, seven items on our first menu of the holiday: turkey, cornbread dressing, sausage bread stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry relish, and flaky dinner rolls. Can you say carbolicious? We didn't count drinks so therefore managed to justify Pinot Noir and Sauvignon Blanc. Nap time was right around the corner. Pies could wait for afternoon. We had seven happy faces and stuffed tummies!

One more reason for giving thanks - - - younger granddaughter lost her first tooth tonight while biting into a dinner roll. We're also thankful that she didn't swallow it.

More snow!

(Early Thanksgiving morning)
The ground is covered with a new blanket of snow that fell last night. Look at that sunshine we are having today! Temperature is currently at 7 degrees, yes, seven. Younger daughter arrived last night safely and almost on time. What a glorious morning!
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!

Separations

A popular blog topic in late August and early September is the beginning of a new school year. Young tots and their moms face their separation fears, maybe for the first time but not for the last. One friend blogged about emotions that surfaced when a child moved away to attend the first year of college. So all of you young moms might as well know that letting go may never get any easier.

I unashamedly admit that I cried every time our daughters drove away and returned to college, whether after a weekend or a longer vacation at home. I never ran down the driveway after them, not once. But through my tears flashed the childhoods they were leaving.

I remember that friends with younger children sometimes asked me how I could bear to let my girls go, how I kept from crying all the time they were gone. My answer was that if I tried to keep them home we would all cry.

Tomorrow I'm flying home after being with one daughter and her family for almost a month.  Tears will fall, but now we share them together.  The next visit never comes soon enough, but it will come.

August Evening at Gull Lake MN

Sad sad sad to Google directions for "Red Rover" children's game to learn that it is so rough that most playgrounds have banned it, especially if three dangerous variations are used. We are sticking with "May I," "Red Light Green Light," and "Simon Says" on our sandy beach. Girls learned the rules instantly and are thrilled to beat us. The lake has smoothed immensely from the last two evenings, and we're staying outside until bedtime.
This morning we played at Nisswa City Park for two hours with about twenty new kid friends. Next stop was our favorite Nisswa lunch spot A&W where girls devoured hamburgers, fries, lemonade, and ice cream in record time.

(Gotta pause this blog because a solitary loon started calling, soon answered by another, so haunting that I feel connected to the mournful canyon wrens of our Frio bluff.)

After lunch we strolled sidewalks of the main street until a girl showed up with a tiny white puppy, fluffy all over, ten months old. Our whole world stopped for admiring and cooing and petting. Sweet, but not a loon or canyon wren.

Turkey Confidence

A flock of about a dozen turkeys came into our MN backyard, pecked around for food, perched on the fence, and strolled around to the front before crossing the street. Risky behavior the day before Thanksgiving!

Son-in-law warned them about his slingshot, but nobody wanted to dig through the snow for a rock. Lucky turkeys! Lucky SIL for not having anyone call his bluff!

Lost Maples

On a Sunday in early November I went on the homes tour benefiting the library and "found" these turning maple trees beside the drive to one of the houses. They weren't truly lost but surely looked lost out on the edge of the manmade lake pond with no others in sight.

I didn't go to Lost Maples State Park this year. Reports said that half the trees finished their brilliant display early, and the remaining half turned later. They all twirled without me.

First Fire

Last night we celebrated our first fire of the season with a few friends. With mornings in the low thirties and the sun setting early, it was time to burn some wood. The outdoor fireplace was clean and ready, but I did have some concern for a couple of black squirrels I had seen scurrying around there recently. No desire for roasting any animals in the process! Husband stacked more logs than necessary, added some fire cubes, clicked the butane wand, and flames jumped to life. (I so badly wanted to write "struck the match," but that action happens so rarely these days.) Friends appeared, wine disappeared, and everyone stayed warm as the sun retreated behind the bluff.

Fall and Falling

Yep, this is a pine tree, a big pine tree, that was growing its big self in the backyard of my Minnesota daughter until Tuesday night during storm winds of 80 mph.  Miraculously, it did not strike the house or anything more valuable than other landscaping.  She was curious about what her daughters would think, but they responded with "Cool! We can make a great fort!"  They will be most disappointed when they realize that a tree removal service is coming to remove it and will leave behind only a modest amount for fort building.  Yesterday their yard also had snow falling on it for the first time this season.  We left just in time to miss the white stuff, pretty but slippery.  Tree fall, snow fall, definitely fall. 

Babysitting, Day Four

Sleep in! Stormy wind, rain, lightning, and thunder woke me before dawn but I didn't hear anyone upstairs. Later older granddaughter told me that she watched the shades in her room light up with every crash, not scared, just enchanted, sounding so much like me, except I would have wanted the shades open to better see the streaks crossing the sky. I've always enjoyed a good old thunderstorm and will sit on the porch for the best view, even if I have to snuggle under a blanket.

Starting the day with a rainy morning kept us in pajamas long after breakfast. Eventually we had to switch gears and plan for the big homecoming. The girls washed their hair, got dressed, practiced a skit, planned special treats and dinner, cleaned and straightened rooms, helped with doing laundry and putting away clean clothes, and had plenty of time to watch a movie on TV and, of course, to rehearse the skit a few more times.

Parents arrived about 4:00, and the torch passed seamlessly back to them.  Soon came the skit and treats from girls to parents, then surprises from parents to all of us.  One of the treats the girls wanted to share with parents was a platter of apple slices smeared with peanut butter we bought at the apple orchard the day before.  They were delicious enough to be appetizer, entree, and dessert all at once.  The peanut butter was made fresh from roasted peanuts and had no preservatives except honey.  Honey, no wonder it tasted better than any peanut butter ever.  We did have a choice between salt or no salt, but of course we opted for the salt.  Weather was mild enough to fire up the grill for cooking the hamburgers planned, and sitting around the table sharing a meal was life back to normal.  One final night routine, but this time after goodnight kisses on little faces we walked downstairs to pack for our trip home to Texas. 

Babysitting, Day Three

Saturday's schedule had a major wrinkle that required some juggling. Gymnastic classes for both granddaughters at 12:15, so breakfast had to be big and lunch had to be small and at 11:00. I wondered how meals would go for the rest of the day. This year the girls go to Circus Juventas for athletic and performance arts training that prepares them for the big circus show in May. After warming up and stretching, today older gd class worked on the Spanish web to climb and do aerials, then used the small trampoline to spot through hoops. Younger gd practiced with unicycles, juggled balls and rings, and tumbled on the long trampoline. A very enthusiastic staff stayed upbeat and encouraged skills that were quite impressive. Observers were mostly parents, and we were not shy about cheering when a student made progress toward mastering a trick. The whole experience was so much more than I expected. Several times I caught myself wondering about that proverbial threat of running away to join the circus, and here were families paying for that experience.

After class we returned home to change clothes and pack for a trip to an apple orchard thirty minutes away. After parking the car, we started with rubber duck races powered by water pumps powered by little hands moving up and down as fast as little arms can go. From there we moved on to hay mountain, petting zoo, goat towers, corn maze, trike track, chicken coops, playground, pumpkin patch, observation deck, raspberry bushes, and apple trees, of course. Several painted wooden cutouts provided photo ops for the girls to poke their heads through and pretend to be truck drivers, scarecrows, pumpkins, bus riders, old farmers, etc. The orchard store had plenty of goodies, but girls focused on the apple mini donuts sprinkled liberally with cinnamon sugar, fresh and hot right out of the fryer. After sampling a variety of apples, each girl chose a favorite and we bought a half peck of each. We also picked up some honey peanut butter made at the farm, some caramel apple suckers, and a cookbook. One section of the fields was thick with chrysanthemums and asters, huge mounds of flowers, all for sale if you wanted to dig them. We did not. 

This time the girls stayed awake for the trip home, probably due to the sugariness of that final bag of donuts we bought on our way out. Another fun day ending but looking forward to a pizza dinner and home's night routine again.  Tomorrow parents return, so this is our last night to have them all to ourselves for bedtime stories punctuated with hugs and kisses.

Babysitting, Day Two

Friday we headed south to spend the whole day at the Heritage Village at the Dakota County Fairgrounds.  Fall weather was perfectly sunny and crisp.  This weekend was the Harvest Moon Festival, probably formerly known as the Halloween Festival.  We took older granddaughter last year and knew the fun would last as long as we did.  Each open building in the village hosted an activity staffed by women, men, and children volunteers dressed in period costumes.  Favorites were dipping candles, twisting rope, walking on stilts, rolling hoops with sticks, peeling apples, riding on the farm wagon, picking corn, shelling corn, grinding corn, making corn husk dolls, making a lollipop ghost, gluing pumpkin hangers, wearing hats made of newspaper, sitting in the barber chairs, escaping from jail, sawing logs, pushing and riding on the school merry-go-round, writing on individual chalk boards, grinding coffee, watching the checker games, eating the food, etc.  Obviously, they wanted to do everything, and whatever they did became the new favorite.  New friends were made everywhere.  Grounds had plenty of open space for running and chasing leaves.  Home for dinner, more dominoes, more reading, and welcome bed. 

Babysitting, Day One

Since today is Saturday, it's time to blog about Thursday. Daughter and husband left the house at 6:00 in a taxi headed for the airport. These city folk should appreciate how simple getting to the airport is with a taxi option. The granddaughters, their grandfather, and I left the house at 9:30 for the Mall of America, specifically the American Girl Doll Store. Our departure sounds simple if you don't think about what happens for an hour before loading up in the car for a day away from home. Traffic was so light that we arrived five minutes before stores opened, but Mall was toasty cozy with exercise walkers. Waiting. Waiting. Doors opened at the AGD store, and we were greeted by a perky first-day trainee informing us that the entire mall would be in a total lockdown drill in five minutes. Our choices were to stay out in the mall area with two already impatient girls or join the employees. Of course we wanted to join them in the back rooms where secret doll adventures might be revealed and all the horses resided. No contest. Sure 'nuff, the lockdown alarm sounded right on time and we were ushered through the mysterious bowels of the store.  Who can say they've done that?  After the established signal, we resumed shopping with marked catalogs in hand.  Check, check, check, one desired item after another.  Done.  Credit card.  Lunch with the use of an extra table for all the bags and packages.  Shuffle to the car and disguise purchases with blanket brought along just for that purpose.  Next stop would be a venture into the almost unknown. 

We had tickets for the 2:00pm Dr. Seuss production at the Children's Theatre.  Last winter Pawpaw and I were chaperones for a first grade field trip to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts next door, but we rode in a yellow school bus during a mild blizzard, and the whole route was a blur.  Besides, this time we were coming from the Mall, not the school.  My iPhone served as GPS, minus construction, minus appropriate signage, minus stalled delivery truck in right lane, minus two impatient grandchildren, minus elevated interchange with no escape.  Allowing extra time really paid off for this little jaunt, and we were still able to go through favorite museum exhibits at the Institute.  Thankfully, but with a mix of pride and chagrin, we took older granddaughter's advice for turns and exits, listening to her reassuring "I've been here lots of times."  Seuss and 500 Hats tickled our funny bones but not enough to make us buy one of those hats from the hawkers in the lobby as we left. 

The ride home went so smoothly that both girls fell asleep and stayed asleep when we stopped at a grocery store to pick up a couple of necessary items like milk and ice cream.  Dinner, dominoes, reading, bed time routine, and first day of this babysitting joy job was done.

Worn Out

No, not the grandparents, just the granddaughters, so far. Wednesday we had lunch at school for two periods and ate subs and veggies with the first and apple crisp dessert with the second. Soon after our school visit we went to the nearest movie theater to see The Social Network. Funny that we learned how Facebook evolved from The Facebook but the film title made no such alteration. Even if you have never heard of Facebook, this movie has much to recommend it, and I recommend it, too. Relationships star, not Facebook itself.

Later we returned to school to pick up granddaughters. As soon as daughter arrived home from work, we all headed to our favorite Thai restaurant for our favorite menu items. Without knowing the name of mine, I can say that is #56 and has scallops, shrimp, and multiple veggies swimming in a spicy coconut sauce. Smooth and satisfying. I know to order it without heat because it will have plenty anyway. Sometimes I have the Tiger beer, but this time I opted for wine. I almost purred during the drive home.

Alarm Clocks

My favorite two alarm clocks came to our room early this morning to wake us.  What a sweet way to start our day with those little voices!

Keeping it short

Experience has taught me that blogging directly from the iPhone works best if I stop before exceeding the allotted space of the posting window. Should be easy enough. If I need more space, then I must carefully edit as I go or send to drafts for later.

Suitcases are packed with plenty of room available for returning with the contents of the box I mailed to MN while on my previous trip. Daughter wisely heeded my warning not to open the box for fear of dirty laundry explosion. Granddaughters readily accepted explanation that I was making room for new purchases. Box remains tightly sealed until I arrive!

Cold happening

Thought it might happen, hoped it wouldn't happen, but it did happen.  My body's resistance finally succumbed to the illness of cold symptoms that raged through our tour group.  Cough, sneeze, drip. 

Fake Blog

This post is only an attempt to keep my blog site active.  I'll get back to real blogging soon.  Maybe. 

Happy birthday to you

Tomorrow our older daughter turns forty. How is this happening? My fortieth birthday clearly pops up with so much clarity that surely only a few years separate mine and hers. In life's scheme of reality, forty years is only a few, a reality that hits with the subtleness of a sledge hammer. The gift is ready, the dinner reservations are made, the spa appointment is scheduled, but the card proved to be the most difficult item to check off the list. At the store I looked at the daughter cards, read some forty year cards, wondered why there were no forty-year-old daughter cards, and finally flipped through a variety of colored envelopes. The search was bittersweet with thoughts of a wonderful young woman who left this earth after only forty years. I know that tomorrow's card doesn't matter at all. The time we have together matters, minute by minute, not the number of the years, because that number will never be enough. Tomorrow we will celebrate tomorrow.

Lake sunset

After cycling through my usual blog sites for lurking, I found no new entries. I've resigned myself to lounging on the lake beach and listening to the late summer sounds of loons, final rounds of ski boats, and whining toddlers resisting bedtime. Dinner settles with a refill of wine, and the rest of the lake sinks into the roll of waves reflecting sunset's orange. So little separates water and sky, their palettes merging.

Nat'l Geo

Warning: live blog!
(found it after boarding plane!)


We are sitting in our hotel room waiting for time to catch the airport shuttle. The NG channel is telling us all about the evolvement of domestic dogs from camp wolves. (I like that spell check turned evolvement into evil men. Can technology make Freudian slips?) By now King Tut has developed hunting dogs bred to run faster and faster. We've already seen lazy wolves following early humans to eat their garbage. Furs worn by cave men look strangely acrylic, but I guess there were not many videos of the real guys. Now we see the fork in the road where dogs become mostly pets or mostly workers. I can relate to this division of paths. Even though I have choices, sometimes I straddle and don't know which one I'm traveling until I hear the crash.

Lesson

I had a long live blog but did not save. Of course it disappeared in a flash of black when I touched a wrong key while intending to scroll for a final editing. I will try to find it later, but let this be a lesson.

Drafts Lost and Found

(I found some drafts on my dashboard and decided to post them.  Wonder if I'm missing the reasons they were stuck in drafts.) 

My blog will no longer allow me to type a post, only a title. That makes no sense. The keyboard comes up but no cursor. Ever. No matter how long I wait.  So I am now typing a note and will email it to my blog where it will go into drafts for publishing later. Why bother, you ask. Because I am sitting in my tube on the banks of the river and know that I can enjoy nature and tech worlds simultaneously if I can just work past the garbage. At least signing in is simpler here than on FB because my iPhone remembers better, and my FB password is so long since the hacker that I can't remember it without my Rolodex.

Here come late tubers, young couple, oops take that back, young man and cougar, each with a dog, standard and mini, her pale gray roots showing where the red ends. Upstream my nephew's son lifts and places rocks to improve a channel for multiplying rapids. This activity substitutes for the weightroom he misses at home as part of his prep for football season. The next school year is right around the corner even though the calendar says June. His grandfather calls to him from the porch, but the physical activity and girls in bikinis distract him. I suspect when the teen appetite kicks in he will have only his hunger for his focus. The next tube has a friend of mine so we chat hello. The girls are with her and describe my family guy as they float nearer. A mom comes next and asks me how old he is. When I tell her his age she says perfect because the girls are a year younger. Little threat, I read between the lines, but downriver they go, never to meet on dry land.

I stopped to email this note to myself for insurance, no point to risk an accidental delete or plunge into the water.  I may be live blogging but must qualify this as delayed live blogging since I send it to drafts on my dashboard. 

If anyone wants an instant update, nephew's son went up to dinner prepared by his grandpa, no floaters in sight this late June evening, summer tanager singing his heart out, new family throwing rocks, sun behind trees, young dad and his daughter crossing to fish, and me sweating/glowing, evening breeze beginning to slide up the river.

Country Peacock

This guy watched me drive by on my way to painting class and then posed for my camera after I backed up on the country road. He was a fun surprise on a drizzly morning. I wonder how he would look in a landscape with bluebonnets. That's a composition I've never seen in a painting. And probably never will. At least not in one of mine. 

(I'm disappointed to have a red "X" instead of the picture, but I will edit later.  I'm determined to find out why the photo doesn't show.)

(Okay, I edited to add the photo, but I'm not happy to have the extra step when I want to do all at the same time on my iPhone.)

Fajita Feast

One of the river businesses hosted a welcoming open house for the Chamber of Commerce and friends. Food feature was a fajita dinner and dessert bar. Their new venue will be the scene of many parties and happy celebrations. I wish I had taken photos of the pool area, but I'm sure I'll go again.

I'm trying the email feature to send photos and drafts directly to my blog.  If you're seeing a picture with this post, then whatever I did worked. 

Sent from my iPhone

Busy Hands

Almost a month since I've blogged, and I have exactly three minutes until I am supposed to walk across the road to leave for an open house. Because I'm using my thumbs to enter text, I can't lift my wine glass to sip. Problem to solve!

A Thursday

(I intended to post this from my iPhone last Thursday but didn't.)

Some blogs I read have entries almost every day. Mine doesn't. Some bloggers have more than one blog. I don't. Thinking. So if anyone wants to read a blog for right this minute, please know that I am sitting on my porch finishing a glass of red wine first begun when our friends were here to share a bottle of rioja. Actually, my glass contains some of the second bottle, a trendy blend. Sigother waits for me to join him for watching Survivor on DVR, but how can I leave the best part of the day.

Down at the river to my left a summer tanager calls, and to my right a canyon wren. Knowing the birds by sound comes in handy when I can't see them, and my hearing improves exponentially as my sight declines. The lushness of spring succeeds in obscuring many of our songbirds but their voices reveal them.

Lavendar skies.

Aunt Ida's Flip-flops

Last week I shopped for shoes in Kerrville and thoroughly enjoyed choosing the skimpiest flip-flops in the store. I couldn't help but think of how much my Aunt Ida would have enjoyed the summer styles I take for granted. In her later years, she was cursed with bad feet misshapen from years of ill-fitting hand-me-down footwear and hard ranch life. Her current shoes were worn enough to have holes of varying shapes and sizes here and there, and the soles were wearing thin.

Aunt Ida was actually my great aunt, sister to my mother’s mother, but she often stepped in as grandmother since she had no children of her own and my actual grandmother died when my mother was only fifteen. One of my childhood summers, I was spending a few days with her and lucky enough to witness the opening of a huge box from Sears, her favorite shopping place (thanks to catalogs) challenged only by Monkey Ward. Included was a pair of sensible black shoes, sturdy cotton hose, a jacket, and some items for Uncle Carl.

Aunt Ida was most interested in the new shoes and quickly tried them on to check the fit. Yep, they would do, and certainly looked better than the ones I had seen her wear all week. After she removed the new pair of shoes, she pulled a knife from her apron pocket and stabbed it into the toe of one of the shoes, sliced off a ribbon of leather, poked another hole on the outside edge, carved out a couple more, and continued in this way with the other shoe. The final result was a strange looking pair suggesting unique sandals but looking vaguely familiar. I glanced over at the old shoes and almost immediately noticed the similarities –- the holes were in the same places for the left shoes and for the right shoes. Of course. Ingenious. Each hole in the new shoes had a purpose: to relieve a sensitive spot on her aging feet.

So, dear Aunt Ida, I bought another pair of flip-flops to honor your memory, and I wish I could give them to you and see the pleased expression on your face. But to get that post between your toes you might have to give up those thick cotton stockings.

Goats Redux

Two weeks have passed, and yesterday I returned to the goat ranch for painting class. The yard gate had a new latch hook. My teacher said that after her son installed it, the young nanny moved to the front yard gate and figured out how to open that one. The son put a different style of latch there and solved the problem. No more goats in the yard.

After class I loaded my paint box and palette into the back of my car and went to get my paint boxes. At my car again, I was surprised (but not really) to see that young brown female trying to climb in while other members of the herd stood around and watched. I'm sure she would have eaten my wet canvases if I had loaded them first. The evidence of sky blue paint would have been all over her quivering hairy lips. Cabrito, anyone?

Driving home I wondered about the kind of nanny she will be someday. What will she do with the kids while on such escapades? Will she be too independent to get involved with any of the males? Will she run around bothering those goats who have chosen normal goat life, even leading some of them astray to her own beat of the drum? Will her penchant for opening gates and going where boundaries say she’s not supposed to be put her in a predicament she can’t resolve successfully? Perhaps always a kid.

Back to School

Today the granddaughters return to school, and I hope their teachers are ready. N is so excited that her assignment will be to write about what she did during spring break. Only in first grade, she has no idea how many times she will confront similar topics in future academia. Her main concern is not having enough time to write when she wants to include everything from the rope swing to the Crystal Cave hike. We lost count of the number of times she exclaimed “This is the life!” during her week in Texas.

K will be ready to celebrate the lifting of any glass, whether juice or milk or water, at her school with the toast she created: “Cheers to our lives!” Then she will want to “clink” the glass of every classmate the same way she does with us and our wine glasses and drink cans. She has been enjoying this routine with us (and sharing it at school) for a couple of years, but I’m not sure if her teachers find it as endearing as we do.

Life around our house is mighty quiet now that they are home again, but June is coming soon.

Gingerless

Someone gave me some crystallized ginger. It tasted like soap fragrance. Not like soap, but just the fragrance of soaps. The outside sugary coating didn’t last long enough to disguise the flavor. Hello, trash can.

I put a couple of cubes in my cup of hot tea, having heard ginger tea described as delightful, and they lay inertly at the bottom of the cup. At least that’s what I thought until I got to the last few sips. Then I found out what they had been doing there -- disgustingly tainting my lovely cup of tea with old soap. Hello, garbage disposal.

After some Googling, I learned that Alton Brown touts a recipe for candied ginger and syrup. His readers are nuts for all things sweet ginger: ice cream, scones, homemade ginger ale, turkey brine, rum cocktails, snacks to nibble, even a sauce for lobster. Fine for them, but my recipes shall remain crystallized gingerless.

Goats Longer

One day a week I drive to a painting class on a goat ranch between Kerrville and Fredericksburg. My teacher lives there in a house containing her gallery and studio. She turns 89 this week, and she and her sons continue to raise a herd of goats, partly for nostalgia, but also for cash. Recently a young female has been appearing at the door of the studio calling and stomping until someone opens the automated gate where the driveway enters the backyard. Then she turns and ambles down the drive and exits the yard. How she gets inside the fenced yard is a mystery. No one has ever seen her enter; she just materializes without notice, often nibbling in the cat food dishes. Sometimes we see her circling the yard, but we never see how she gets there. Various theories have emerged, from jumping over the fence to squeezing under, but we can’t catch her in the act. Just like a kid.

Last week after class I took my canvases and materials to my car parked outside the fence. With Miss Goat’s usual curiosity, she came over to nose around and to check out what I was putting in the car. Since goats have a reputation for eating almost anything, I quickly closed the back end of the car and started back to the house for goodbyes. She beat me to the side gate, nuzzled the latch until it popped up, and used her nose to open the gate for both of us. Mystery solved! When I opened the door to the studio, her rush to enter first was thwarted by my teacher’s quick hand on the remote control. The sound of the driveway gate slowly creaking open caused Miss Goat to switch direction, see the clear escape route, exit the yard, and pause to start the whole pattern over again. Such a kid!

I have never thought too highly of goats, rarely thought of goats at all, but always enjoyed seeing the newborns during the spring season. This unusually talented goat has yet to become involved with a male, knows nothing of young babies tugging at her undersides and following her every move, has a burro for a bodyguard, remains ignorant of dangers lurking, moves nimbly wearing a sleek and shiny coat, and will never leave the ranch for any good reason. Kid.

In a few days I’ll return to the goat ranch art studio, and I’m already looking forward to seeing how much the little ones have grown. The nannies will echo their babies’ calls when I scatter them by driving up the ranch road. I will creep along and roll down the windows to inspect what spring vegetation attracts them. My teacher will call some of them by name but declare that she no longer feels attachments to them. We’re kids, too.

Goats

The title is a teaser because the hour is too late to actually compose a post.  This abbreviated entry is merely a reminder of a topic inspired by my friend S. who wrote about cows.  I'll get the full version blogged very soon.  Maybe not very, but soon. 

Courthouse Suits

Yesterday I had lunch at the Tea Room in the antique mall across from the courthouse square. About 12:15 two women and one man, all dressed like lawyer stereotypes, came in and sat at a table. About five minutes later five more people dressed like lawyers came in and sat at another table. I thought of my friend MG who was selected to be on the jury, and the whole time I ate my lunch I wanted to tell those suits to hurry up with the trial so my friend could come back to exercise class. And they better not make her late for catfish at Neal's tonight. Oh-h-h, I wonder if they have heard about Neal's and will be there, too!!!

Choir in Good Standing

Tonight's choir practice leaves us with only two remaining before our big day.  For the first time ever, our church will present an Easter Cantata.  The performance will take place on Palm Sunday because Easter Sunday is too packed with our Sonrise Service.  The fact that the cantata lasts forty-eight minutes without a break might also have something to do with the decision to sing a week early. 

When we choir members learned how long we would be singing in front of the church, some gingerly reminded our director of the advanced ages of most of us (she's fifty, we're not), stressing that such a long time to be on our feet might affect our "joyful noise."  Not to worry.  Those concerned can have stools behind them for resting.  As if anyone wants to be the first to plop.  In true Survivor tradition, no one will want to be the first to go, to be the worst at outstand, outsing, outlast.  Neither do we want to be Pelosi popcorn, if you remember her antics during Obama's State of the Union speech.  (She must have conditioned with a trampoline at home.) 

So . . . what to do.  Pray.  Choose some confortable shoes (I take mine off during practice but probably not a recommended action at the front of the church).  Remember not to lock our knees (Fainting can be a major interruptive distraction).  Pray.  I'll let you know how it all turns out.  Or you are certainly welcome to attend and see for yourself.

Early Spring Weekend

What a weekend! We ate at Neal's Friday night when they opened for the season, danced to Gary P. Nunn at House Pasture Saturday night, and celebrated a full church Sunday. Now the sun is coming out to start a week of spring weather. Life is good on the Frio! Hope your spot is showing some spring, too!

Romance

My Visa bill was due on Valentine’s Day. Where is the romance in that? I paid it early just to avoid thinking about it during Cupid’s time.

This year our celebration will be on February 13. Where is the romance in that unlucky number? Just because Saturday night is more convenient, dinner and wine will happen early.

I’ve already seen and read my card. Where is the romance in that? My card is actually “my” card because I don’t have the card in my possession. Spouse and I drove to Wal-Mart, went our separate ways in the greeting card section, selected a card for each other, presented and read them, kissed and hugged right there in the store, and then returned the cards to their places. Mine for him cost almost $5.00, but I didn’t look on the back of the one he selected for me because I didn’t want to be impolite. We plan to use the money we saved on a couple of glasses of wine when we go out tomorrow night. I’ll probably wear red, not only for Valentine’s but also because that’s the color of the wine I’ll drink.