Why Thursday Sucked ...cont'd

I remained up on my ledge look-out for another hour, until the razor-edged spikes of sunlight through the old pinon provoked streams of sweat from my already tormented brow. I called out one last time for my beloved Dave and received the same thundering silence as before. This little cat, you see, was the embodiment for me of all that was still good and virtuous remaining in this world. Had he been in human form, I would have been even more honored by his friendship and love. Could this little orphan who imposed himself upon our household now be gone forever, his blessed nature and influence suddenly vanished with his untimely and unexpected departure?

I finally resigned myself to this ultimate sorrow and made my way down through the shifting shale of the mesa face. As I rounded the corner to the Rat's front door, who was lying there in the shade of the moving trailer but my most beloved Dave. He did not speak or move and I wasted no time in scooping him up again on my flight to the Rat. I swung the door closed with my back and placed him down on the tiles to recover with Ming. I cannot adequately express the gratitude which I felt at that moment nor the release and weightlessness of my soul.

In the interim, the heart of the Rat had become a building inferno without the generator to power the evaporative cooler against the sun's heat. I decided upon extreme inactivity and a good book to weather the baking atmosphere. The siesta was indeed a practical invention against the heat of these desert days and I soon released myself into the ever welcomed amnesia of a deep and fairly pain-free sleep.

It didn't seem long before my mortal release was curtailed by the sound of Mark's truck and the excited welcome-home barks of Brou and Daisy. We hauled the Honda 3000EU back to its post as Mark filled me in on the shop's prognosis. The compression test results were within specs but the valves were well out of adjustment and the spark arrestor was full of oily carbon as I had suspected. They had their own suspicions that the confines of the metal doghouse had allowed the unit to draw in its own hot exhaust and thin its oil in the extra operating heat. Mark unpacked the mechanic dolly-like affair which he had ordered from Northern, leveled the Honda and rolled it with its exhaust outlet facing the open doorway of the doghouse. It fired up readily and ran well. Mark also brought home a one-size-smaller main jet to have on hand just in case. The shop readily acknowledged that we are their first off-the-grid test bed for the Honda, that the remainder of their generator customers are REALLY old fart RV types who may run their units 3 to 6 times a year.

One would think that this should have been ample events for one day in the middle of nowhere. Not! To be continued.

Why Thursday Sucked Ever So Badly

There are few things like the persistent dirge of a chronic, resistant infection to draw down your usual tenacity and taint your world view, I suppose. I will finally admit it. In my case, I am approaching the anniversary of what I call my 'Curse of the Pueblitos'. It occurred about a year ago while exploring an ancient pueblito ruin with Virgil's wife. I nearly poked out my eye on a surviving wooden roof pole (these folks believed in LOW architecture) and I developed a rather tenacious case of staphylococcus as a result. When I mentioned this to the neighboring ranch matron, she replied in her raspy voice "Yeah, I know what you mean, it's almost like someone didn't want you there. It always happened to me, too." This curse has gone from topical to systemic, back and forth several times by now with the help of marginally effective antibiotics, but nothing eradicated the problem completely and so I still await an appointment with an ENT who will hopefully drive this malevolent beast from its likely stronghold within my sinuses. Yes, I admit it, I am a little worn, and discouraged by now with the chronic fevers and acute pains lighting up half a dozen teeth like abscesses, an imaginary ice pick up my nose and a feeling like someone is prying out my eyeball while sitting on the previously broken part of my skull. It often puts me off any desire to write updates. But on with Thursday's events:

Mark left for town just after dawn with the Honda 3000EU generator. The dealer would do a valve adjustment, compression test, etc. and hopefully it would come home with him that night if all looked reasonable. These various 'by appointment' necessities have totally skewed our plan to only go to town twice a month. Oh ... and Mark's cell phone decided to no longer take a recharge so he would have to spend additional hours in line at the cell phone store to explore any remedial options there. What equipment failure or unplanned misery next, I wondered. What new boil to be inflicted upon Job today?

With no new Mark-driven projects at hand (my own drive has succumbed to this infection), I decided to take the pack for a walk. The kitty boys had been giving me 'the look' for several days but the chiggers had been keeping me out of the high grass lately. I donned the tall rubber boots and we headed up the mesa face, a party of five (obviously the two dogs weren't going to miss a hike to parts unknown). The sun was already warming the air and the two cats darted from the shade of one tree or rock to the next as I plodded along, intently surveying the latest blooms of the plants and being careful not to step on any. With this focus, I tend to cover a lot of ground before I know it. Our progress was interrupted by the necessary but unsuccessful chases of small striped lizards every so often by dogs, cats and tour leader or my coming across a new plant. At one point, Ming the black cat stopped to survey some creature's mark against a small bush. His ears went sideways, he stuck out his tongue and embarked on a series of quick, sharp pants. Then he took off at a determined trot, back to where we had come from. I presumed that he had found the marking of a bobcat and wanted nothing further to do with it. I quickly gathered up the other three beasts and headed out and eventually Ming changed his mind, followed and caught up. Shortly ahead of us lay a much less treacherous path back down to the canyon and we were soon all descended and crashing through the sage and grasses towards the road.

I had not previously noticed the heat but, out here in the open now, my companions were panting wildly with tongues hanging well out of their mouths so I sped up the pace down the parched road. Beautiful Dave the cat worried me the most. With his epicurean belly, he was now complaining vocally like the chubby kid on a Boy Scout trek. I stooped down and picked him up into my arms as the rest followed closely. The Rat seemed a hundred miles off in the distance still when Ming veered off the road and disappeared, his plaintive calls dropping further and further behind us. I decided to get Dave and the dogs to shelter and run back for Ming. Dave began to squirm in my arms as we approached the barn so I let him back down to the ground and he made a dash under the old cattle loading chute. I presumed he would collapse to rest, given his condition. Right at that moment, Ming had decided to catch up so I hurried on to the rat where he could collapse on the cool tile floors inside.

When I arrived back at the old chute, Dave was no where to be found. My heart sank, knowing that cats in dire conditions like to run off and hide to die. No response to my various best kitty calls. I looked in the tall grass, I looked in the barn full of piled junk. I would repeat this process of scouring the entire homestead several more times in the next hour, a sense of desperation and loss escalating with each new failed attempt.

Although the heat was now getting to me, I decided to scale back up the mesa for a bird's eye view of the homestead. I breathlessly sat down in the shade at the rim with the two dogs flanking me. From up here, perhaps I might catch any movement below. And I called and I called but only silence answered. And it was here, from my lofty ledge, that I could bury my face in my hands and wail uncontrollably at the prospects of losing my favorite little friend and blame myself for leading them so far from home in this oven of a place.

This is already a considerable amount of writing for the events of just one day so I will leave off here now and hopefully resume the tale tomorrow. I am depleted for the moment.

Not to worry about Dave, it eventually worked out.

Dark Side of the Canyonlands

A group of seven natives (five adults, a young child and baby) were going about their daily routines in the canyon when they were surprised and set upon by unknown assailants and brutally massacred. Investigators are not ruling out an ethnically motivated crime.

This could well be a plot from the pens of New Mexico mystery writers Tony Hillerman or Michael McGarrity. The difference is that the victims and the investigators are separated in time by over 900 years, more than a challenge for the best of today's cold case detectives.

Read the rest of this intriguing story at:

Ancient Massacre Discovered in New Mexico -- Was It Genocide?

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2007/07/070712-chaco-massacre.html

The 'Monsoons' Have Arrived!

I took this photo right a sunset. It occurred to me that if I had painted this landscape on canvas, viewers might presume that I had exaggerated the cloud formation. The height of the clouds extended beyond the range of the lens but what can be seen is still ample fodder for imagining various fanciful figures within them. What do YOU see?

The arrival of the 'monsoon' season (a relative term in the desert) is now bringing heavily overcast skies in the afternoon and evening with some possibility of rain. Even if the clouds bring no rain with them, their shade from the piercing sun offers a welcome drop in temperatures and perhaps a cool breeze. We sat out in the mostly finished addition yesterday and enjoyed the coolness of the moment which entered through door openings yet to be addressed. Accordingly, there is little incentive to rush into enclosing this retreat from the heat. Bring on the rain!

A Huntin' You May Go ... sigh, or not

My blog friend David over at The Author Blog (see his link in the left hand column) has just inspired me with his new post on partner blog interest and participation. It does seem to take haltering and leading to the blog well at times. In my case, I was fortunate that Mark responded exceedingly well to threats of starvation and/or torture. While he is too stoic to be a cheerleader, he is generally an excellent proofreader when he is in the right mood. And I will grant him that my impetuous demands for immediate editing normally correspond with his time of nodding off while reading the same page of the Wall Street Journal for over an hour or more.

But with his conscripted servitude come certain blog privileges. In this case, he requested that I address our ranch's hunting income for this year. Since we are in between outfitters at the moment, he has decided to play the field a little. Normally, we have been selling our private land owner elk tags to outfitters who market a package with a healthy guide fee tacked on. If you are a competent, self-reliant outdoorsman and hunter, we can help you set up a world class big game hunting vacation in New Mexico for a third to one half of an outfitted hunt. Our 2NN (second nearest neighbor) offers very good meal and lodging accommodations to hunters. I happen to think that their rates are outrageously reasonable given that they are the only game in the canyon. She has several good photos of enormous bulls that have been taken in our area. ...

Z-z-z-h-r-r-r-r-r-r-i-i-p-p-p-p!!!!!

The above line represents the sound of a tone arm ripping across your newly recorded piece of blog vinyl. Sigh.

We had just completed another round of coerced blog proofreading when the phone rang so Mark nipped off to his office to answer the call. Ten minutes later, I hear an announcement "Never mind about that blog thing. It was an outfitter, I think we have a deal."

I was still staring at the recently completed entry. I now became aware that my teeth were grinding painfully together, I could feel the outer edges of my lips expanding into a maniacal grin, my eyelids and pupils were dilating into a glazed off-focus stare. I knew I was slipping into a blog writer's Jack Nicholson Shining moment. I stared at the screen. The recently accomplished words began to dissolve and were now running down into a distinct black puddle of ink at the bottom of that screen. "Oh ... really, dear?" All that creative angst and fighting for cooperation for nothing then? Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh. Bloggus interruptus.

My nostrils flared to accommodate the adrenalin rush as I advanced ever so silently into the office. "So ... tell me more ... d-e-a-r." I felt my fingers involuntarily curl into deadly arches as I surveyed the long and graceful lines of his Lladro-esque neck from behind. He turned unexpectedly and I withdrew those menacing hands just as quickly and assumed a Stepford wife glowing demeanor (or as best as I am capable of, at least). "I think we have a deal." he said. "Oh, really? And you will be happy with that, I mean TRULY happy with that? What I mean to say is that I will never hear any further griping about this then, never have to recreate this last blog? Ever? Really?" "Yes, that is correct." "By really, I mean r-e-a-l-l-y ..." I took the legal pad down from his book shelf and placed it in front of him. "... then you won't mind writing and signing a statement to that effect?" "I will NOT!" Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh. "Then you may ask me to do this again later for some other reason, your most royal sweetness?" And so we discussed a broad range of vaguely interweaving matters. It became clear that he reserved the right to rain on my parade down the road - that's how I took it at least. I eventually acquiesced, only regretting that I know so little about operating the skid steer and all its lovely digging abilities. J-u-s-t kidding, sort of. Remember, unless you are confined to an environment the size of a large shoebox with the love of your life 24/7, you cannot begin to understand the dynamics at play out here. Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh.

As usual, Mark was pressed into proofreading even this rework. This torturous blog exercise is surprisingly therapeutic for both of us. Oh, and the photo is of moose hunters, not elk hunters ... just had to throw that one in to get Alphonse the Moose's attention.

Independence Day and Beyond

There was just no way I was going to be able to honor Independence Day as beautifully and as informatively as Fat Hairy (click on his link in the lower left column) so I decided to sit this one out quietly. Besides, I was feeling a bit ill and we were both feeling a little out of sorts after more equipment malfunctions in the last couple of days. In fact, I was at a loss on what to write about until I downloaded my latest round of snapshots from the camera. I came to this one shown and started to chuckle.

Brou barked to signal incoming military aircraft so I ran out, with camera in hand this time, only to find that they were unusually high up. At least there were two B1s so I thought it wouldn't hurt to waste a frame or two trying to capture them in flight. By the time the camera set itself up, I could not even see them through the view-finder but took a shot anyway. Then I promptly forgot that I had even bothered until just now. The two planes occupy the top and bottom of the photo on the left hand side but what caused me to laugh was the indistinct blob on the right side of the photo. It reminded me of so many UFO photos I had seen back in the 60s ... fascinating indistinct blobs just like this one!

Click on image for larger view (not like it will help however)

Then it occurred to me that New Mexico's most famous UFO incident took place exactly 60 years ago. Come to think of it, it's probably New Mexico's most famous anything to the world beyond the land of enchantment. Wait, better still; their annual UFO conference is going on right now! So this is my official Roswell post.

I swear Mark wasn't tossing pie pans around at the time and I checked the lens for crawly critters. I have my suspicions which involve my usual antenna sitter but you just never know sometimes, do ya?

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Humor of the Day (from my old buddy Jim)

Simple Instructions

"WHEN THE PIN IS PULLED, MR. GRENADE IS NOT OUR FRIEND." -US Marine Corps

"AIM TOWARDS THE ENEMY." -Instruction printed on US Rocket Launcher

"CLUSTER BOMBING FROM B-52s IS VERY, VERY ACCURATE. THE BOMBS ARE
GUARANTEED TO ALWAYS HIT THE GROUND." -U.S.A.F. Ammo Troop.

"IF THE ENEMY IS IN RANGE, SO ARE YOU." -Infantry Journal

"A SLIPPING GEAR COULD LET YOUR M203 GRENADE LAUNCHER FIRE WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT. THAT WOULD MAKE YOU QUITE UNPOPULAR IN WHAT'S LEFT OF YOUR UNIT." -Army's magazine of preventative maintenance

"IT IS GENERALLY INADVISABLE TO EJECT DIRECTLY OVER THE AREA YOU JUST BOMBED." -US. Air Force manual

"TRY TO LOOK UNIMPORTANT; THE ENEMY MAY BE LOW ON AMMO."-Infantry Journal

"TRACERS WORK BOTH WAYS." -U.S. Army Ordnance

"FIVE-SECOND FUSES ONLY LAST THREE SECONDS ! "-Infantry Journal

"BRAVERY IS BEING THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS YOU'RE AFRAID."-David Hackworth

"IF YOUR ATTACK IS GOING TOO WELL, YOU'RE WALKING INTO AMBUSH."-Infantry Journal

"NO COMBAT-READY UNIT HAS EVER PASSED INSPECTION." -Joe Gay

"NEVER TELL THE PLATOON SERGEANT YOU HAVE NOTHING TO DO."-Unknown Marine Recruit

"DON'T DRAW FIRE; IT IRRITATES THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU." -Infantry Journal

"IF YOU SEE A BOMB TECHNICIAN RUNNING, TRY TO KEEP UP WITH HIM."-U.S.A.F. Ammo Troop

"ANY SHIP CAN BE A MINESWEEPER. . .ONCE." -Anon

Talkin' 'bout Our Generation

If there is one bit of advice on homesteading which will run consistently through these journals, it is: "Do it as soon as you can, while you still have energy and ambition. AND patience. I no longer possess the patience which was needed to restore intricate, delicate antiques or vehicles. It is simply gone. I don't know if it is solely the erosive effect of time itself or if it is a complex weave of experiences which drove it away. Perhaps having to start over again from nearly nothing so many times has exhausted a finite supply of patience. But, take my word for it, it is a necessary attribute for a life in the middle of nowhere. It helps you tackle a problem and keep on going without draining essential energy.

The other valuable asset you will need is a familiarity with every system which affects your quality of life there. We are marginally suited in that respect but probably better than most folks. Unless you find a property with an existing, fairly maintenance free home, you will be ever strained and challenged. The greater distance to town or the more miles off pavement, the less likely you will be able to call in professional help. When you are 2 or more hours in from pavement, you realize that you cannot throw up your arms in surrender and call a repairman, not unless you have unlimited financial resources.

So ... on Saturday night, I was on the computer after Mark went to bed when I heard an uneven woowoppaty of the generator and saw the corresponding light show. I grabbed the lantern and dashed outside to kill the engine but I knew that I had just broken one of my most stringent rules - Do Not run engines out of fuel! From my own experiences, doing so will allow water, rust and crud to flow out of the tank and clog things you don't want to deal with. I went to bed with that thought on my mind.

On Sunday morning, I awoke to the raucous rattle and exhaust call of the bigger generator, the one we only run to power my table saw. It took a moment to shake off the night's last groggy hold before I realized that this confirmed my last thoughts of the evening before - Mark could not start the Honda 3000EU generator. Here comes that vital element of patience into play. I laid there a few moments longer, going over the likely components to address and I dreaded the prospects deeply. A long time ago, I used to tear down my motorcycle every winter ... just because. Now I resent having to so much as change oil. Jade. An oil-soaked jade.

We held a quick conference, consulted the owner's manual, and decided that Mark would continue working on the addition and that I would see if I could do anything to resurrect the generator. It sits in the snug metal 'doghouse' at the end of the addition project and I was soon sitting in a sideways knot on the dusty floor. Gack ... that's right ... metric! Not like either of us have a vast selection of metric tools around but, several times throughout the morning, we managed to come up with the right sizes after considerable scrounging. Then I realized that everything had been efficiently jammed into this housing and that my hands are about a size and a half too big to be anything but clumsy. I removed the air filter and removed the sludge trap hidden behind it. I found some light residue but nothing I considered a problem with fuel flow. Put everything back ... still no fire up. Sigh ... surely NOT the carb? No, I'd rather check the plug than deal with that. Still nothing. No, not the carb, please ... let's throw in a little starter fluid down the hole. Nothing.

No, not the carb PLEASE. I retreated back into the Rat and took a coffee break, trying to work up the heart to attack the carb. Okay, let's do it. Once I got myself twisted back down into position, Mark was marvelous about finding any new items needed, like a tin can of gas to clean off the main and needle jets which I dropped into the dirt no less that a half dozen times before my hands and screwdriver jammed through the access hatch could reinstall them. Patience, not! Right about then, my right hip let me know that it had taken quite enough abuse and I hurled myself out of the doghouse to roll around on the ground looking for any escape from the pain. I eventually crawled back in and finished up. NOTHING! Patience, that elusive virtue. It is a vital antidote to despair and I had little by then.

By now, the sun had roasted both of us to near exhaustion so we called it a day. Normally we retreat inside and fire up the evap cooler. Ohhh ... that's right, the gen-er-a-tor is-NOT-working. So we sit there sweating, looking over the trouble-shooting section, following the yes or no arrows right down to the last box "You are an idiot - take it to your dealer". This would mean an unplanned run to town and at least two days without electricity, possibly a week or more plus an extra retrieval trip. No lights, no cooling, no computer, no e-mails, no blog. Glum, glum, glum rained down over Mudville. We filled up the new lanterns with equal parts kerosene and despair in preparation for nightfall and fell back to the living room.

Complete resignation seeped in around the edges of the gloom and drained what was left of us so we both sat silently for a time, our thoughts only vaguely connecting with reality.

"Wait!" I startled Mark with that exclamation and he sat forward. I had calmed down enough to remember my next rule of mechanics, one which I had learned from observation plus the hard way. 'Problems may coincidentally develop which have absolutely nothing to do with the first and obvious culprit.' "Mark!!! Tell me ... does that oil warming light normally flicker when you crank it over?" I have had many eccentric vehicles over the years that have lights which flicker benignly during start-up but, HEY, I am grasping desperately for straws by now. "Gee ... I never noticed one way or the other." "Okay, let's get desperate here then ... would you please top up the oil and check the housing for level?" Off he went with hesitant hope while I raced to prep supper before dark. "VROOM!" Yes, yes, yes - we both nearly danced around the Rat, another problem vanquished in the waning daylight. But don't dare dance with too much abandon for there will likely be new problems tomorrow.

Ol' Potty Pen Goin' for the Big 'R' Rating

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Today's photo? Just another back yard view. Know what's even better? For as far as you can see in that photo, there's not another house or person to be found. How cool is that?

..........................................Click image to enlarge

Okay, so maybe I am just barely old school enough that I just can't quite put some things down in text without thinking "What would Mum say?!". I've read through a lot of blogs that I stumble upon and wonder if they are orphans without family or any fetter of dignity. This is not a piety claim here. I have worked in more non-traditional non-female-friendly jobs than not; phone plant construction, carpentry, mechanics, motor trade - whatever it took to survive ever so marginally. I can make a roughneck blush, I will admit that. But, somehow, I just can't bring myself to put in text that which I reserve for moments like slamming my thumb in a brain-dead stray hammer whack moment.

So ... it was quite amusing to have my blog assessed by movie standards at:
http://mingle2.com/blog-rating

I plugged mine in: I'm PG-13 (Parents Strongly Cautioned, Some material may be inappropriate for children under 13). Moi? Guilty as sentenced according to the movie ratings however. My transgressions were as follows: the words ('Hell' appears 5 times) and ('Zombie' appears once). Whooo ... am I trashy-mouthed or what? I guess I don't consider Hell a naughty word - for me, it's just a place where, hopefully, complete jerks go when they fall off the perch for the last time. At least I like to think so. I even think we should promote the possibility of some eternal fork-poking Karma a little more. It doesn't appear that we have much to lose in that respect. Now, as to 'Zombie' - you've got me there ... completely. I kinda liked those '60s zombie movies that we endured at the drive-in as an excuse to not stay home on a Friday or Saturday night. Again, what do I know? - I'm out of the loop and out here in the boonies. Maybe that's a good thing.

After the events of today, however, I might just go for that big rating upgrade. I guess I really am becoming a crotchety and impatient old fart. Don't wander too far away since I will be posting that rant/tale in the next couple of days. Did anyone say homesteading wasn't a challenge? If so, please send me their URLs, okay?
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Mountains Out of Ant Hills

This is a tread-water offering while Mark and I fine tune the last elements of the Rat Water Works. 'Fine tune', in this case, is a euphemism for banging our heads against the wall and screeching as we solve one problem, only to have another appear, then another and another - like playing Whack-a-Mole. We'll have to take a few more whacks before showing you the final lay-out. It's starting to look good though!

Click on image for larger view

This photo shows one of our neighborhood red ant hills last Fall. I placed a gallon milk jug beside the mound to show how industrious these little fellows can be. They place a shingle-like layer of larger gravel and chico needles on top to slow down erosion and it's enjoyable to catch the glint of old colored glass fragments in the mix. I've heard that they occasionally dredge up lost Indian trade beads as well. These mounds and their forage trails are everywhere and I soon learned to pay attention as to where I was standing before stopping to sightsee during a hike. Willy the Well Driller noted that the 'old timers' used to observe the height of the mounds to forecast how much snow the coming winter would bring. Then, being in his 8Os, he stopped to laugh at himself for calling anyone an 'old timer'. But the ants and the old timers were right - we had a much needed higher level of precipitation last winter.

The ants showed up and introduced themselves like the Welcome Wagon as soon as we arrived. While they are not as aggressive and rude as fire ants, I still didn't like having them keep me company and crawl up my pants legs while I was working under the Rat. That crawling sensation caused me to hit my head on the undercarriage more than once. To their credit, however, they were more pleasant to deal with than the rotting rat that I stuck my hand in while trying to move around under there. Thankfully, I did not run into scorpions, rattlers, black widows or tarantulas that are also likely to move in if you don't have the space sealed up well. I have met all of them in other settings since arriving so it's probably just a matter of time before they show up under the Rat. Funny thing but I have since developed a dislike of having to work under there. Therefore, I will be ever grateful that Virgil bit the bullet and dove under to deal with the latest necessary plumbing reworks. I know for a fact that he is not particularly fond of creepy crawlies either so my only solace was that he was far more agile and likely to come shooting out of there at light speed if he ran into anything untoward. Without him, I guarantee you that this water project would have been on hold 'til slightly before Hell freezes over if it had required my participation.

There's This Hum on My Cell Phone

Crackle ... "... on final approach" crackle ... "Roger, Charlie Niner ... you're breaking up, over?"

It wasn't until yesterday while I was leaning against the hummingbird feeder post that I realized what might have been irritating my cell phone communication with the outside world. I found myself there trying to determine if the dogs were barking at anything of genuine substance. A hummingbird dove in to hover a few inches away from my hand to grab a slurp of sugar water and was immediately strafed by a far more aggressive member of his own kind. I watched the aggressor fly back to his vigil on ... MY cell phone antenna! MY, MY, MY antenna, NOT his!

The "Doh!" moment hit, a nostalgic flashback back to the TV industry's standard screen saver of the 60s for transmission difficulty ... birds sitting on an antenna! We had bought and installed this big rig antenna on the roof of the Rat to aid my cheesy default package cell phone. This phone had always been 'iffy', even with the construction of a closer cell tower up on top by Slim's ranch but the antenna had worked well in the winter months. By late Spring, I could count on conducting undecipherable conversations on a regular basis. It didn't make any sense. Not until today.

Apparently the sensitivity and signal loss of this antenna is such that, when we asked about buying coaxial to extend its reach further back into the Rat, the answer was a resounding "No, can't do it!" Accordingly, I spent any subsequent cell time tethered to the antenna at the desk in the front of the Rat. Lately, even that wasn't enough to stop the break-up of signal. Doh! This had corresponded with the return of the hummingbirds! Thankfully, this revelation does not make me feel any more compelled to absorb mindless girly chatter about bimbos whom I have never met while my buttocks, arms and mind fall asleep, a torture visited upon me by previous female acquaintances. For future calls of genuine importance, however, I now know that I can run out to the porch and throw cow chips at those perching bullies when the signal breaks up.

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June: A couple of antennae decided to get married. The wedding was so-so but the reception was fabulous!

C-o-o-l, c-l-e-a-r water ... WATER !

Story time line: Late April to present

As promised on his last field visit, Virgil came through for us and returned on his own time to help us with the dreaded plumbing rework to correct that last numbing bit of craftsmanship left by the Handyman from Hell. Without his help, neither of us were going to get around the stroke-inducing memories of that fiasco. And so that day held exciting prospects beyond few others out here to date. I awaited anxiously for the check-in call saying "We're only a half hour away right now."

When they finally arrived (a half hour seeming like an eternity), they did not come to the door as expected but went right to the work site at the rat's rear. Wot!? Such serious intent? We'll have none of that here! I ran the inside length of the trailer and exited out the rear door to head them off. I grabbed the cordless drill on the way out and lay in wait behind the metal 'doghouse' which we had recently lowered into place with the skid steer. Virgil rounded the corner first and I mowed him down quite effectively with the drill ... Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Well, he was no fun at all and kept on walking even though I knew that I had scored a direct hit on this invader of Billy the Kid's secret hideout. But wait! There is one more invader to be dealt with! I hunkered down again and sprang up in full blaze as his wife rounded the corner. Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! I wasn't about to take any chances this time, nosiree. It just had to be done.

Now maybe some would consider such things as "Ewwww, like so totally sophomoric, you know?" but then again, I never signed any contract saying that I would grow old gracefully either - or even sanely, for that matter. And there's something satisfying about making younger folks wonder if their own parents are like this when they are not around. My reward for all this foolishness was a sighing reprimand from Matty as she restrained a patient grin and said "Sigh ... oh, Lin, you-are-SUCH a little kid ...." Some moments just don't get any better than this, seeing that adorable ever-patient little face in chastise mode. I can see why Virgil is completely sold on her, I really can.

It wasn't long before Virgil, being the no B.S. kind of guy he is, surveyed the situation through the skirting panel we had just removed, donned his Carharts and disappeared under the rat for serious business. Matty remained content to browse through her school supply catalogs on the back steps nearby, soaking up a good sunburn in the process.

Soon we heard "Oh man, I can't believe he did this ... what a complete doofus!" issue forth from the dark under belly of the Rat. But there were no real surprises for us in his findings. It would figure that the Handyman from Hell had reduced the 3/4 inch supply line that he made such a dog and pony production over down to 1/2 inch well BEFORE the branch-offs to the kitchen bath and laundry occurred. But we knew deep down that more inane practices would be revealed in time.

The best we could do now was to hover by the opening in the skirting and toss him tools and supplies as he needed them. It was a sheer and envious pleasure to watch his lithe, young frame squeeze by UNDER the rat axles - something that neither of us could accomplish with our latter day bulges.

While the remainder of the system set-up was not ideal, by the end of that day, we had gen-you-wine running water in the rat. We celebrated over the lunch which THEY had brought and then with a Chez Rat supper. And Virgil reminded me that he got one of our private property mulie hunting passes for the effort. Now just hoping that he might share a backstrap or a round roast if he gets lucky this Fall.

With Virgil's absolutely crucial part in the scheme completed, we could now seal the skirting back up and proceed with the foundation for the proposed addition. This was a glorious step forward. The photo shows that momentous progression.

Click on photo for larger image

To be continued!

Project Delayed by Passing Wind!

"On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
De win' she blow, blow, blow,
An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"
Got scar't an' run below --

For de win' she blow lak hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more, . . . "
~ WH Drummond

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There are times when the crew of the wood scow "Rat" must acknowledge a helpless insignificance in the face of nature and acquiesce until its tantrums subside. Last week brought winds so fierce that, for the first time in over a year, we could feel the Rat shudder and rock from several right hooks from Mother Nature.

This photo shows the dust storm raging along the path of the creek, obscuring our normal view of mesas five to ten miles away. The sage in the foreground is straining forward to the east under the heavy hand of the wind. Click on image for larger view

The day had started out with benign breezes. Eventually the playful zephyrs became like rowdy drunks, hurling innocent objects aloft simply because they could. I looked outside and saw Mark attempting to become Rocky the Flying Squirrel by waltzing with a 4x8 sheet of sheathing. "Secure that thing and come in here! No sense in continuing with the project until the wind dies down!" No one likes to hear that sort of logic expressed when they are on a roll but Mark had only needed a second opinion to confirm his own thoughts. In the company of all dogs and cats, we spent the rest of the day reading and watching interesting items sail past the windows in their unexpected maiden flights. The water and addition project fell into stasis between the winds and the likelihood of thunderstorms. On the other hand, we welcome such occasions to read obsessively without any mantle of guilt. We are truly enjoying no longer being caught up in agendas, timetables and goals. We did take occasional peeks outside to formulate new and improved plumbing configurations and create new schematics. The next town run will bring home definitive supplies to complete our water machinations. But I may have made that presumption before. For the want of a nail, the kingdom may wait another half a month for continued progress but things do happen eventually.

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Humor of the Day (from Ken)

Bumper stickers for seniors

- Senior Campbell's Soup - new LARGE type alphabet soup

-The secret to staying young is to live healthily, eat slowly and lie about your age.

-I must be getting older - all the names in my personal phone book end with M.D.

- I'm not old - I am chronologically gifted.

- Be nice to your children - they will choose your nursing home.

- FLORIDA - God's waiting room!

- Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again.

- Quit worrying about your health. It'll go away.

- At my age, flowers SCARE me.

- I'm so old that all my friends in heaven will think I didn't make it.

- Birthdays are good for you; the more you have, the longer you live.

- One good thing about Alzheimer's ... you get to meet new people every day.

- It ain't the age, it's the darn mileage.

- Support bingo. Keep Grandma off the streets.

- When did my wild oats turn into prunes and bran?

- Any day above ground is a good one!

- My wife always gives me sound advice; 99% sound, 1% advice.

- Retirement: Twice as much husband, half as much money.

RE: Siding, Re-Siding and Residing at the Rat

Da Moose, Red, et al continually remind me to post photos of our rat re-siding project. They're right, this has been a major step towards civility and economic sustainability here. Why I have waited this long to present the status of this project is beyond me - perhaps due to not having finished the window and door trimming. It will look great if I ever get around to that final touch, however, just don't hold your breath, okay?


Click on image for larger view

We hadn't been moved into the rat for more than 24 hours before we realized that something had to be done to stop the wind and the cold air from infiltrating. While this trailer had probably been state of the art efficiency 35 years ago, both time and technology had long since advanced. We even got a good laugh out of the surviving climate zone (-50 F) certificate in the old furnace closet. Admittedly, the trailer had full 2x4 stud walls stuffed with pink insulation. If you are thinking about buying a cheap rat, do yourself a favor and get one with at least that much going for it. I kid you not, we had carefully diced our way through a number of rat trailers with 2x2 walls - don't even think about those jobbies. This one at least had the big 'P' (Potential) going for it in that regard.

The detractors of the rat were that it had 3/8 plywood paneling on the interior walls and a beer can thick coating of aluminum on the outside and the place leaked air like a bicycle tire in a prickly pear patch. Since it was winter by the time we settled in, we started with the cozy fixes on the interior; putting up drywall here and there and re-securing and caulking the original paneling where needed. Even that helped immensely as far as the number of 20 pound propane tanks we were going through although we still sequestered ourselves into just the living room and kitchen area that first winter. You'd better like each other's company before trying this however. Even Slim testified that he doesn't doubt that this same scenario led to a divorce in his case. So be forewarned.

During the following summer, we started skinning the rat. The aluminum siding was tacked on here and there with hex-head screws and innumerable staples but it was easy enough to take down in ten to twenty foot sections at a time with the help of tin snips to define the cut-off points where necessary. In the process, we eliminated two leaky old doors; one to the now defunct water heater closet and the original side egress. And good riddance. They were nothing but wind and bug liabilities anyway. The hard part was deciding which old windows and doors would stay and where new windows and doors needed to be framed in and installed.

Once the framing issues had been addressed, Mark began infilling each stud center with a precisely-fitting piece of one inch styrofoam over the existing fiberglass insulation. I was impressed since they managed to stay in place even with the high winds ripping by before we could proceed to the next step.

The game plan was to do one complete side at a time and then wrap over the entire side with Tyvec before beginning to install the new exterior paneling. The strategy worked very well, too (sometimes our plans DO NOT work as envisioned). We cut and installed stepped flashings both above and below the paneling as we went and this has paid off nicely in terms of avoiding moisture infiltration.

When the last panel was in place, we painted the paneling. This paneling proved to be a nice material to work with. They're 4'x8' particle composite sheets with a deeply embossed weathered barn board effect which took the paint very well. For the color, I took an average of various pieces of weathered board that we had salvaged for our fencing. If I decide to get fussy at a later date, I will go back and highlight the embossing with a nearly black stain. But, you know what, it looks just fine at the moment and may stay that way forever. As an acquaintance used to say repeatedly "I may be young and ambitious but not THAT young and ambitious." And that was uttered 30 years ago. My former anal perfectionism has mellowed considerably over those intervening years.

Being both pragmatic people, our biggest pleasure in completing the siding project was in being able to expand into the rest of the trailer without any increase in heating costs. The difference was remarkable, in fact. Now that we are entering hot weather again, the benefits seem just as remarkable in terms of heat infiltration. This has definitely become one of our most cost-effective efforts so far.

Next stage: working towards running water in the rat.

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Appropriate humor of the week:

What's the difference between a divorce in Arkansas and a tornado?

There is no difference. One way or the other, somebody's gonna lose a trailer.

Favorite Desert Recipe - Just Add Flower

There have been a few events lately that had me lightly wondering why we are still here. This photo helps explain why to me and the rest of the world.

Click for a larger view

These are yucca plants, similar to the one which Mark encountered (but without the handsome blooms) on his previously recounted buttock ride down to the creek. Like most other desert plants I have found, they aren't happy growing just anywhere either. They seem to pick out-of-the-way places where the deer and elk (or sliding hikers) aren't likely to pester them. These particularly nice examples are growing on an isolated ledge jutting out four stories above and sixty feet behind the rat trailer. They keep the company of some of the most joyously lush and vibrant yellow clusters of wild flowers I have ever seen. Photographing them is quite another story:

Disclaimer: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME

- Especially do not try this if you are accompanied by two whacko Aussie cattle dogs who will blast between your legs as you pick your way over the crumbly two foot wide section of ledge with a sheer drop on one side.

- If you place a foot on an unstable rock which gives way and crashes over the edge, Mark will never notice from below, even though you just did a geriatric sideways splits and came up howling like a banshee. Your solace is; at least you didn't go over the edge with that picturesque rock.

- Once the dogs are out of the way, you will enter the Josef Karsh zone as you jockey for that most sublime shot. This will cause you to keep your eye jammed into the viewfinder while crab-walking backwards for the right frame. This, in turn, will cause you to inadvertently squat on a younger yucca. I have yet to figure out why these spikes leave a lingering and unpleasant burning sting at the contact point but they do - just take my word on that. Still, I just had to share this view with you.

So how's that for some awesome no-fuss backyard landscaping?

Gas Pains

Okay, so when was the last time you filled up at the pump and went inside to pay and the nice lady said "That'll be $2500.00 and some odd, please." ? It might be enough to have you clasp your hand over your heart and reel backwards like Fred Sanford working on 'the big one'.

For us, it seemed like just last week. Come to think of it, it was just last week. After over a year and a half of trying to set up fuel delivery to the ranch, it finally happened. Both a good and bad aspect of New Mexico is that a lot of people and businesses don't get strokes over 'minor' details. If you go along with that new mindset, you will be fine and probably live longer in the end. If you haven't quite managed the full transition, you might die that much sooner out of frustration. We are somewhere in between at the moment. We have been laid back enough to not follow-up even weekly on events that just aren't happening as promised. BUT, we are still up north or back east enough to eventually get tired of drumming our fingers and waiting, especially when something brings a premium with it when it does finally happen.

For instance, imagine what that same load of gas would have cost well over one year ago. The irony was that we only found out later, unofficially, that we could have locked in a price per gallon at the time we first committed to ordering it. And, much more ironically, that a locked-in price might have had that fuel out here much sooner as gas prices started to rise.

The upside of having fuel delivered out here to the back yard is that we no longer have to bring several 5 gallon gas cans into town each week to feed the generator, the skid steer and other thirsty beasts around here (To Be Announced!). Our biggest disaster in personal fuel transport just had to occur right after Mark's new big Dodge got the new spray-in bed liner. Of course. The shop sent him away with the warning to not spill fuel on the liner - that this was one thing guaranteed to eat it up. So, you guessed it .... five gallons dump over onto the liner, a load of building supplies, etc., despite the load lock bar, wishes, prayers and santos. Well, maybe we weren't using the santos (those charming rustically carved saint statues - largely of Hispanic Catholic origin) but I think I might track some down after the events of this last month and tack them to the cab roof.

To take a minor amount of sting out of the delay, the company did give us tanks and the spill detention tanks at a reasonably reduced rate though. They give you a discount for bulk quantity purchase but the delivery price curiously offsets that savings, i.e. you still pay pump prices. Like I said, the main benefit is that we no longer have to transport fuel in ourselves. Now ... all we have to do is use it up before it deteriorates or find some way to stabilize it. As I have found out from vehicle restorations and running older, more finicky engines, the new gas formulations just don't have the shelf life they once did. Those little, itty bitty, pricey cans of Stabil were not going to cut it at our volume so we started looking for it in quantity. In the process, buddy John E from Phoenix noted that Stabil itself does not necessarily have a stable shelf life. Is it just me or is there some grand irony involved here? Well, we did some more technical info digging after that revelation and it turns out that it is okay if you add it all to your fuel immediately or leave it unopened. Once opened, however, that tiny can will start to go down hill unless you use it up. How many of you, myself included, have had partial cans of that stuff hanging around forever on the shop shelf? Something to think about before pouring it down the gullet of your favorite old GTO.

Memorial Day Thoughts

I had once volunteered to help spruce up the graves of veterans before Memorial Day. It was a beautifully sunny day and a cool breeze ruffled the grass in the shadows of the tall trees. With the help of the little map, I quickly found my assigned area. I stepped out of the truck and saw hundreds of colorful potted flowers waiting to be planted three to a marker.

At each new site, I would read the inscription to learn more about that person. As I fought with stubborn weeds to make way for the new flowers, I found myself tracing around the Born and Died dates with my index finger. I smiled when the dates showed a man surviving a war and living on to eighty or ninety years of age. The ones which saddened me were those with a death date corresponding to war years; young sons and husbands who did not return to continue on. The short two-date summation of their lives drove me deep into thought as I troweled away. There was my Uncle Bob whose B-17 was shot down in Europe, Uncle George and Uncle Gordie who charged ashore from landing craft on D-Day, Uncle Hank whose navy ship was torpedoed off the coast of France. Only one did not make it back home to us. I also remembered the drawn, weary faces of the WW1 veterans from my visit to a VA hospital, those who had already been hospitalized for fifty years from mustard gas attacks upon their trenches. You can't forget those faces, you can't help but be overwhelmed by the immensity of their sacrifices. By now, time had claimed all these stalwart old soldiers and they all seemed to join me now in this quiet little cemetery and I lost it just as I did the day they played taps by my father's grave.

And this weekend I insist on celebrating the survivors as well as the fallen. To Jim who survived the med-evac chopper runs in Nam, to Red who survived the downing of his B52 and his POW time in Hanoi. Jim, you've been a loyal friend all these years - long after others deserted the ship and, Red, you have been the brother I always wanted most in my heart. And to my newly found blog friends, Bruno and Catmoves, too. I was the one most blessed when God chose to bring you home from war and I know that I am not the only one who feels that way. Remain strong, fight the dragons to the end, and know that you are always loved and honored.

I have received lovely comments on this particular post but I will be holding back comments from being published. It just seems right somehow.

Shopping Trips as Necessary Evils

It's been two weeks since Mark's last supply run to town so we are in short supply on most of the perishable basics by now. After the incident noted in the last post, we just might go to a two week schedule instead of our previous one week intervals. This will mean getting used to buying more of any given item and it will probably take us several tries before we get the quantities right. Still, it is better than exposing Mark to more oncoming traffic than necessary, at least for a little while.

On the accident front, we have not heard any positive news so far but we haven't given up either. Many, many thanks for the moral support you have given us with your comments.

The good news is that we finally got disciplined enough to sit down and put together a materials list for the new small rear addition. It will be just big enough to house the future solar power equipment and the elements needed to give us real 24/7 on demand water in the rat trailer. You probably have no idea how exciting this prospect is after being without running water for a year and a half!!! Our wonderful Virgil helped out with the first step in making the rat plumbing water-ready and I will be writing more about that soon.

If you enjoy reading stories that make you chuckle and say "Boy, ain't that the truth!", then you have to go read the May 25th story from Alphonse Da Moose. Click on his blog link in the left column of this page. The man just has that way of telling great stories.

Hit and Run

Friday, May 11th, was our last town run for supplies. Mark has become very good about letting me know when he is finished his errands and now back on the dirt road and heading home. He called just a few minutes after turning off the highway and was now only about an hour and a half away. What can I say? I worry about people, I inherited it from my mother. Get used to it 'cause I ain't about to change any time soon.

For an ETA of 1.5 hours, I allow an extra half hour before I start to really pace back and forth. Sometimes the roads are rougher than expected, sometimes you might meet up with someone and shoot the breeze a little or maybe just get stuck behind a herd of commuting cattle for a while.

A little over two hours after his call, I hear Mark's diesel as it drops down into our canyon. Brou hears it as well and can't wait to whine and widdle all over the porch when his best buddy returns. We're all out on the porch grinning when the Dodge pulls up beside it. Mark gets out and starts unloading without so much as a salutation for any of us. Hmmm ... something's up but I will just let it slide for the moment. He is even unusually oblivious to the curious dog noses poking into every new package. By the fourth bag of groceries deposited on the porch, however, he mutters something inaudible. This is my historic cue to open the floodgates of what has been eating at him. An impressive flood it was, too, and I soon became drenched with anger and outrage myself.

The Tale: About ten minutes after he had called, he was still on that part of the road which we both find unpleasant for its never-ending heavy washboard ripples and its thin layer of gravel which feels like oiled ball bearings under the wheels. Aside from the feeling of very little traction, we are going to have to make these trucks last a long time to come and, as a result, we plug along this section at 10 to 20 MPH tops.

Unfortunately, our town runs also put us in the position of being a lone salmon facing a steady stream of gas field vehicles heading into the field in the morning and back out at night. Such was again the case when Mark approached a blind corner after calling me. A pick-up going about 60 MPH popped into view and lost control as the driver swerved to avoid the guaranteed head-on collision. It was now sideways in the loose gravel and still heading for Mark. Mixed in with the thoughts that he was about to become a fatality, Mark managed a hard dive into the high brush on his right and braced for the crash. A kind brushing of fate had the other truck hook a little traction at the last moment and nearly straighten back out, nearly. Mark felt a sharp jolt and knew that he had been clipped as the other truck sped up and disappeared without so much as a tap of the brake lights in some sense of decency or responsibility.

Still shaking from the sudden adrenaline dump, Mark stepped out to survey the situation. Sure enough, there was a heavy swipe running from his left rear wheel well to the rear bumper which ended by breaking the rear tail light. And the guy never even thought about stopping for even a second - that was the final insult to injury. Our field friends looked for a week to find the culprit but their efforts yielded nothing so we are kicking this up several notches now.

There is a disturbing new trend in the gas field towards producers running vehicles without any identifying signage at all and nearly black windows. This anonymity is certainly handy in incidents such as the one Mark just survived and we are pretty angry and determined at this point to get some accountability and responsibility restored to where it belongs. We will let you know if we have any success to this end so "Watch This Space". If this incident had ended Mark's life or incapacitated him, this dream of ours and this blog would have all come to a painfully abrupt end so it seems a worthy quest to pursue the matter on principle.

No Mo' Lampshade - Hallelujah!

While there was plenty to write about during this past week, I just couldn't get myself into the right mood to do it. I was generally sort of disgruntled although I can't say that I would necessarily recognize a feeling of 'gruntled' either.

The photo has nothing to do with any state of gruntling at all. It is announcing that Brou is now free at last from 'The Cone' and that our shins are starting to heal, the cats are starting to unwind again. Here's Brou looking out the window in a pose which reminded Mark of something he couldn't put a finger on right away. It finally occurred to him that it reminded him of a particular Edward Gorey illustration which is shown below the image of Brou. Hey, you have more thought time to make strange associations when you reside in the middle of nowhere.

I will write more, either tomorrow or on Sunday, about the event which ignited my disgruntlement. Mark also had his gruntle severely wrinkled by the matter. Never a dull or occasionally deadly moment out here up the creek, it seems.

A Good View of the Ol' BombBay

I heard Mark exclaim "Gagghhh!!! You're really part pig, aren't you, Daisy?!" so I looked out the window. I shouldn't have. What used to be the tri-color new dog in town was now a uniform, dripping mud brown. Worse still, she had convinced Brou to follow her into the mud wallow. So much for the vet insisting that we keep his surgery site clean. Sigh.

With the addition of this newest warm body to the clan of the rat trailer, I was beginning to understand the concept of population stress. I was having a serious lemming moment, in fact, so I rounded up the kitty boys to go hiking in search of cliffs. Ms. Daisy was secured to the grounds but Brou tagged along with us. The cats seemed a little miffed that we didn't leave him behind like we did last time but got over it quickly.

About a mile away from home base, we were hiking along half way up the mesa when a low flying B1 bomber flew directly, and I do mean directly, overhead. Close enough to see some details, loud enough to raise the hackles on everyone in the hiking party. It was awesome! Well, at least I thought so but, then again, I am a gearhead. Brou went berserk, barking and jumping up and down as he loves to do when the low fliers approach. Ming the cat velcroed himself in place, his eyes so big that they were almost glowing, his ears dead-sideways and now looking like two black horns. He laughably looked like a demon having a very bad hair day. But where was Beautiful Dave the Cat? He must have taken off like a jack rabbit because I spotted him some five minutes later emerging from the shelter of a cliff wall a good distance away.

Between the fly-over and seeing several new-to-me flowering desert plants, it was a marvelous walk about. Well, maybe 'the boys' didn't think so but I sure did.

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Humor of the day: (from buddy John E. in Phoenix)

Happy Mother's Day

So, we had this great 10 year old cat named Jack who just recently died. Jack was a great cat and the kids would carry him around and sit on him and nothing ever bothered him. He used to hang out and nap all day long on this mat in our bathroom. Well we have 3 kids and at the time of this story they were 4 years old, 3 years old and 1 year old. The middle one is Eli. Eli really loves chapstick.... LOVES it! He kept asking to use my chapstick and then losing it. So finally one day I showed him where in the bathroom I keep my chapstick and how he could use it whenever he wanted to, but he needed to put it right back in the drawer when he was done.

Last year on Mother's Day, we were having the typical rush around and try to get ready for Church with everyone crying and carrying on. My two boys are fighting over the toy in the cereal box. I am trying to nurse my little one at the same time I am putting on my make-up. Everything is a mess and everyone has long forgotten that this is a wonderful day to honor me and the amazing job that is motherhood. We finally have the older one and the baby loaded in the car and I am looking for Eli. I have searched everywhere and I finally round the corner to go into the bathroom. And there was Eli. He was applying my chapstick very carefully to Jack's ... rear end. Eli looked right into my eyes and said "chapped."

Now if you have a cat, you know that he is right--their little butts do look pretty chapped. And, frankly, Jack didn't seem to mind. And the only question to really ask at that point was whether it was the FIRST time Eli had done that to the cat's behind or the hundredth.

And THAT is my favorite Mother's Day moment ever because it reminds us that no matter how hard we try to civilize these glorious little creatures, there will always be that day when you realize they've been using your chapstick on the cat's butt.

Laughter really can be the best medicine

We've had a run of overcast skies and damp, chilly temperatures. Slim sounded pretty bummed out on Friday during the rain but had lucked out up top on Saturday and Sunday with a dry weather window for his annual cattle round-up. I don't imagine that having a trailer full of rained-out volunteer workers and bored kids would be a treat when everyone had been hyped up for serious cowboy action. Nor could I imagine having to wrestle with a lot of wet calves in the mud, especially since we still have all of his plumbing supplies in the back of the Dodge that he needed to get the showers up and running again. I guess we all just ran out of time on that project.

We had our own cabin fever moments brought on by this weather. It turns out that Daisy, the new dog in town, loves to find mud holes and returns soaking wet and mud covered. As she dries out, her thick, kinky hair sheds dust everywhere by the mound full. To cut down on the dirt, we have been keeping her indoors far more than hoped for. Two people and four critters are possibly too many for a place the size of the rat trailer, especially when that really means the kitchen and living room area. Daisy chases one of the cats, Brou chases Daisy as the new enforcer, Mark chases Brou to call him off. I sit here wondering where all the wonderfully deafening silence has suddenly gone.

A cabin fever hike was overdue. Rather than bring the entire entourage, I snuck away with just the original boys; Beautiful Dave the Cat and Ming the Merciless. As we threaded our way through the sage to the spring, I could hear Mark's exasperation with the two dogs who knew very well that they had been left behind. Just me and 'the kitty boys' once again and thankfully the whining and barking died down after we disappeared from view. Serenity had returned at last. We hiked along, exploring new and intriguing holes in the eroded sandstone walls and finally finding a new way up the embankment to the first bench overhead. Ming dashed from the cover of one tree to another but Dave boldly walked out in the open with me so I scanned the skies overhead for the golden eagles who had just been patrolling for prey again yesterday. So far, so good but maybe they had a better sense of the weather than I since it started to rain. Nothing like a little rain to motivate cats, believe me. Before long, we were all at a trotting pace for the half mile trek back towards the rat. Once the boys recognized our standard trail down, it was obviously 'every man and cat for himself' and they left me behind to pick my own way down the treacherous shale around the yuccas. The boys looked a little mousse-spiky from the rain and I must have gotten a serious chill.

I was feeling pretty miserable by the time the generator came on and was able to check on a friend's blog. I felt a surge of warm energy run through my aching, shivering limbs as my eyes welled up with tears from laughter. It's obvious that this man has not lost the ability to tell a good story in 35 years. If you need a good laugh, check out his tale of May 5th at:
http://alphonsedamooseramblings.blogspot.com/
or just click on his link on the left side of this page.
Thanks, Alphonse, I sure needed that.

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Humor of the day (sent in by Alphonse himself)

Barbara Walters did a story on gender roles in Kabul, Afghanistan, several years before the Afghan conflict and noted that women customarily walked 5 paces behind their husbands.

She recently returned to Kabul and observed that women still walk behind their husbands. To her great consternation, despite the overthrow of the oppressive Taliban regime, the women now seem happy to maintain the old custom and walk even further back behind their husbands now.

She approached one of the Afghani women and asked, "Why do you now seem happy with the old custom that you once tried so desperately to change?"

The woman looked Ms. Walters straight in the eyes, and without hesitation, said, "Land mines."