From the Orphanage

Wow. It's been over a year since I last posted. That's a whole lotta water under a whole lotta bridges, not the least of which is the 45th President of the United States. He's giving us an interesting ride. One wonders what Buck would have to say about the State of the Union.

In January, my Daddy suffered a recurrence of the lung cancer and was facing another round of radiation in March. He really hated that prospect, almost as much as he hated  the three-armed gowns he had to wear at treatment. (I swear, for being such a brilliant human being, he simply could not figure out to get into those gowns! Baffles me to this day.) He was down to about 120 pounds -- and he was nearly 6 feet tall. He had no appetite, no interest in much of anything, and no hope.

So, in the evening of Tuesday, March 7th, he called me -- somewhat later than usual -- to ask if I would take him some Ensure the next day. I said sure, even though I was scheduled to take him to a doc appointment on that Friday, just two days later. He asked what time I thought I might get there and I replied, "Around midday." I told him I'd see him tomorrow and we said our goodnights.

I arrived on his front porch around noon that next day, and his door was locked. His door was never locked when he was expecting me. I had left my key at home, so I rang the doorbell. I could see through the top of the cafe-curtained front window that the lamp beside his chair was on, and I could hear Rush Limbaugh on the radio; I'm too short to be able to see what was going on in the front room, though. I waited and waited, calling his landline (and leaving a message) and his cell. I thought maybe he was in the bathroom -- he had been suffering unpleasant GI issues -- so I continued to wait, knocking every so often. After 30 minutes, I called the apartment manager, fearing that he might have fallen.  She came immediately, unlocked the door, opened it, and immediately pulled it closed.

She had seen him in his chair, with his head slumped on his chest, and blood coming from what she first thought was his nose. She called 911 and advised me not to go in.

Ambulances, fire trucks, police cars, EMTs, detectives, and ultimately the Coroner swarmed the retirement village -- not a rare sight, unfortunately.

We waited on the porch as the police investigated -- thank God for Miss Carolyn! When the Officer came out to call the Detectives, he said to Carolyn, "There's a gun," and I buried my head in my jacket.

I learned a lot about how law enforcement operates that day, and I will say this -- Little Rock's LE forces have some of the most professional, most thorough, kindest, and most compassionate people in the world. They explained each step they were taking to me, right down to the fact that they had to find the bullet in the wall (fortunately the lady next door was in the hospital, so she was spared all the drama. And bullets.), and that they had taken Daddy's driver's license because, technically, it belongs to the State (which I suspect is just a ruse for identification purposes).

My family arrived with flashers blinking and started making calls. Blur.  A long/flash-forward afternoon.  And, suddenly, I was an orphan.

I wrote the obituary -- it ran in the Sunday paper:

Lee Arthur Clayton of Little Rock moved to Heaven on Wednesday, March 8, 2017, in time to have lunch with his beloved wife, whom he hadn’t seen since 1977. Speculation has it that they enjoyed a “Seedy Bun” cheeseburger from Minute Man.

Art was born in Dumas, Arkansas, on April 3, 1929, to James Vance Clayton and Hattie Nuckols Clayton.

A graduate of the University of Arkansas and a member of Kappa Sigma Fraternity, Art joined the Navy, served in Korea on the carrier Sicily, and remained in the USNR (attaining the rank of Lieutenant Commander) until retirement after 20 years. He had quite a diverse civilian work life in the financial industry at Commercial National Bank; Stephens, Inc.; First Commercial Bank; and Union National Bank. He was appointed by the Governor to complete his father’s term as Arkansas State Treasurer in the early sixties, but decided not to run for that office as successor. His favorite place to hang his hat, however, was the Yarn Mart, where he spent a happy decade running the business end while his wife, Shay, handled face time with clients. He spent his retirement years engaged in keeping up with technological advances, working at several retail establishments, doing a little traveling, and enjoying family.

 Family was his Joy.

An only child, Art was predeceased by his parents and his wife, Shay Foshee Clayton. He is survived by his daughter, Terry Clayton Paulson and her husband Walt; grandchildren Shay Rafferty and husband Tim; Veronica McClane and husband Nick; and Stephen Paulson; along with great-grandchildren Jack and Clayton Rafferty; Walter Arthur (Mac) McClane; and Will, John, and Lizzy Paulson. 

His family is certain of one thing -- he is eternally grateful that he will never have to endure another “Spring Forward/Fall Back” or presidential election. 

The family will greet friends at a graveside service at 2:00 pm on Tuesday, March 14^th, at Forest Hills Cemetery.

A whole lot of memories fought to get in that obit, but there was just so much room. Plus, I got to share a few more at the graveside service (in the sleet!):

I have had the great, good fortune in my life to get to rub elbows with some brilliant people. Two of those brilliant men in particular played a significant role in molding the woman I am today – one is the man I’ve been married to for nearly 39 years, and the other is the man who raised me. 

My father was a certifiable genius. He loved taking things apart to see what made them work, and researching them on the Internet. He always got in on the ground floor when any advance in technology was launched. I can’t begin to count the number of computers he went through, going back to the days when he had to use DOS to program a Tandy to welcome me with “Hello, Terry” on its screen. Amateur astronomy was one of his hobbies, so I grew up reading Sky and Telescope just for fun. He spent countless hours holed up in what Mama and I called “the LaBORatory,” tinkering with things and visiting with friends on amateur radio. And he always built the radios. He and Mama had one of the first Pong games on the market, and one of the first digital clocks that ticked out hours, minutes, and seconds. He said it was a graphic way of watching your life slipping away. Daddy could be a bit of a pessimist. 

He was also a kind and loving father. His work life allowed him to spend a lot of time with me in my formative years, and he didn’t completely recognize that I was a girl.  He taught me how to shoot a pellet gun (Sometimes out the bathroom window. Daddy had an odd dislike of sparrows.) He taught me how to throw a spiral pass with a football. He would take me out to the airport where we would park at the end of the runway and he would teach me how to identify private aircraft by their structure – I can spot a forked-tail Bonanza right off the bat. We loved to cruise Lake Maumelle on the party barge named FUBAR Maru that he owned with some Navy buddies, but, I was well into adulthood before I learned that “FUBAR” was not exactly the acronym of Fouled Up Beyond All Recognition. He taught me how to recognize features of the night sky in unusual ways – for example, the Pleiades is an open star cluster that resembles a martini glass with a bent stem. Every elementary school age child should know all about martini glasses, right? He showed me how June bugs would make a funny popping sound when you tossed them into burning charcoal, and how to catch lightning bugs. He made fudge every time it snowed. He made really good fudge. 

Daddy wasn’t exactly gaga over children, but I was an exceptional child, as were my children and their children. He would tell that to anyone who asked about us. And to some who didn’t ask. We are convinced that he fought the good fight these last few years just so he could be around for us. And that is why, although his exit was not exactly what we would have chosen for him, and we will miss him, we rejoice that he has found his peace. 

See you later, Daddy. We love you.

Younger Daughter also gave a eulogy -- it was lovely. Oddly enough, she, too, talked about his love of birds. She also recounted how, one Christmas, she and Elder Daughter gave their "Boompie" a Beta Fish, thinking he needed a little low-maintenance companionship. He refused their gift! (Boy, that one really got under my skin -- I told him he should have taken it, flushed it, and told them that it had died. Sheesh!) So, they took it home with them and named it "Eyore," their pet name for their grandfather.

And, the memories keep on coming.

I don't like this orphan business, but it's taught me a lot with all that has followed in dealing with the government, and the military, and banks, and . . .  . I have come to the conclusion that we should never die -- it's waaaay too expensive and complicated.

A Family Kind of Weekend

The weekend was a lake-focused one.

On Saturday, Pepper took Bouie and Mysti (much to Yappy's chagrin) with him and SiL#2 to fetch the boat from the repair shop on Lake Ouachita where it had been since shortly before the Fourth. The dogs had a lot of fun swimming and spending time with their dad and friend. Pepper enjoyed swimming with the dogs; he did not enjoy spending mega-bucks on the boat.

Then dawned Sunday and we headed out for the lake again (and to pick up the boat from the repair shop. Again. But that's another story.), eager for a day with family and summer Arkansas sunshine.

We got the sunshine, in spades. Dang!! It was hot!!

"We" was constituted of Pepper and Moogie, The Son and his three kids (Grandkids ##1, 2,& 3), Younger Daughter and SiL#2 with #5 (yep, SiL#2 had a Pepper-centric weekend.), and three Yellow Sisters from last year's litter. 

Yep, three 11 month-old Labs. On a lake.  And on an isolated island with lots of sticks. And old campfires to rummage through.  And Pepper casting fishing lines to chase.  And people sitting on funny styrofoam things in the water to try to capsize.  Successfully.

We were privileged to be spectators at a private performance of the Labrador Olympics of 2015!

It was a fun day of family time, even if I did get a little fricasseed in the sun. There are sections of Moogie's skin that haven't seen direct sunlight in ages. We were all pretty worn out by the end of the day. At least #5 got in a little nap. That would've been a good idea.

Here are some pics. My phone storage was acting up so I didn't get a shot of Younger Daughter and #5, or of #3. Or, I guess, of The Son. Oops. Elder Daughter and family were in Dallas, visiting SiL#1's folks.

Here's #2 riding the knee board.

#1 on the Boogie Board.

Pepper, #1, and some dogs scaring some fish.

Three Yellow Sisters, enjoying the water.

A little male bonding time.

Two sisters -- the largest (Persi) and the middle-sized one (Yap).  Petite little Chelsea was farther out.

Poor #2 was the target of Chelsea on more than one occasion --  she wanted a cuddle from her boy (or, to try to drown him).

Yep, they're sisters, all right. Playing and tussling all the time, even in the water.

Yappy was one tuckered out puppy (which is not totally a bad thing!). She's still kind of subdued, even today!

What a fun time!  Now, if I can just shake off my too-much-sunshine-exposure hangover.

Home again, Home again!

Just back home from NOLA and a very chilly Mardi Gras. Winter Storm Warnings for today and tomorrow here.

My internal thermostat is confused!

Pics to follow.

Catching Up

Hmmm. Blogger seems to be very tired today. Sloooooowwwww to load.

I know how it feels.

My brain seems to be in suspended animation, so please pardon the rambling.

We went to the CAMAN Ball in New Orleans last weekend, then spent the following night at Covey Rise Sportsmen's Lodge with Bouie (He and Pepper had done a quail hunt on Friday and Saturday morning after dropping me at the hotel in NOLA). The next morning I got to shoot skeet for the very first time ever!  I even killed two of those critters! Pretty impressive stuff, if I do say so myself. Here's the skeet shooting range:

And my "Badge of Honor" (for not holding the shotgun correctly on one shot -- shhhh, don't tell anyone! I was kinda proud the bruise wasn't any worse!):

We also got to visit with some neighbors from Moogie's Mansion's 'hood, then made a stop at Rouse's to stock up on some stuff that we just can't get in Little Rock. Hmmm. There seems to be a substantial amount of alcohol involved:

Yes, Moogie and Pepper did some pretty serious bootlegging.

One of my dearest childhood friends and her husband spent a few nights with us this week after her sister-in-law passed away unexpectedly and they came to town for the funeral. I haven't really gotten to spend any time with her in probably 25 years. I wasn't sure what to expect, but we picked up right where we left off, as if not a day had passed. In fact, we were so engaged in visiting and catching up that we totally missed the Young President's State of the Union Address! What a lovely lagniappe to the visit (and panacea for my blood pressure!).

So, I guess you can go home again.  Nice to know.

At Loose Ends Here

I'm kind of in a funk. Just kind of antsy for some unknown reason.

And I'm seriously sick and tired of governments getting more and more involved with the minutiae of daily living. Take Dallas, for example.

On New Year's Day, a new ordinance took effect in Dallas that imposes a new "environmental fee" on paper and plastic bags used to transport purchases made at retail stores.  Five cents per bag! The "fee" purports to be a means to reduce litter and the customer is permitted to bring his own reusable bags or purchase them from the merchant. AP reports, "The Dallas rules have sparked some confusion. But officials say the idea is to encourage shoppers to bring their own, reusable bags — thus avoiding the new fees."

I'm sorry, but this sounds like a "nudge" to "encourage" sanctioned behavior and a revenue generator all rolled into one handy-dandy rule. A tax by any other name . . . .

So, I think I'll go along with Calvin in the upcoming year:

Gee, I miss Calvin and Hobbes.

And, I need a hug.

Family Vacay!

We had our very first "family" vacation in June!  The Son and his family weren't able to make it because they have other travel plans this month, so it was Pepper and me, the Daughters, the SsIL, and Grandsons 4 and 5.  We rented a 3 bedroom/3 bath house in Sandestin with a fully equipped kitchen, a covered porch, and a golf cart!!!! The golf cart might have been the biggest hit for the boys -- they loved to take rides around the property.

I take that back -- the pond (the house sat on the 17th fairway of a golf course) was by far the biggest hit because it was home to hordes of turtles!  And those were some of the pushiest turtles I've ever encountered! When they saw people coming outside, they flocked at water's edge, waiting for treats. Our family gave them Honey Nut Cheerios. Lots of Honey Nut Cheerios.  Elder Daughter even got them to eat out of her hand! (Elder Daughter had an early cocktail hour  that day.)

It was a grand time. We divvied up meal preparation and ate out once. Number 5, at just barely 12 months, might have been a little too young for much beach time, but #4 is a water baby. Moogie wound up doing most of the clean-up, but everyone pitched in at something.

One of the turtles (pronounced "tuuhr-tulls") found his way up to the porch. SIL#1 caught it on film:


A little breakfast time:

Beach fun:

Cleaned up boys on the beach:

After our restaurant meal at The Crab Trap on the Gulf:

You don't often have the blessing of making memories like these. We're tired. But happy.

And they're all coming to Moogie's Manor for Independence Day!

I think I might need a nap.

Being "Thankful For My Family" Doesn't Begin to Describe How I'm Feeling Right About Now

 The funeral was yesterday.  My heart broke for those parents whom Fate had led to sit in front of an open casket, draped with both a folded American flag and an Arkansas Razorback flag, bearing the body of their 24 year-old son. My heart broke for his siblings.  My heart broke for the love of his life and mother of his child. For his son and extended family. For his brothers and sisters in arms. For his church family. For every parent in that room.

The slide show celebrating his life brought both tears and laughter. The three different preachers got their message of salvation across. The music was both iconic and touching, ranging from "Amazing Grace" to Kenny Chesney to Christian rap, among others. I must admit, I've never heard Christian rap before. It was interesting.

The whole service exhausted me. And it terrified me, as you will see, with good cause.

SIL#2 and Younger Daughter sat beside #2's mother in the front row.

The evening before, Wednesday evening, my precious young family was on I-30, on its way to the visitation, in stop-and-go rush hour traffic.  #2 was driving their 6 day-old Toyota Venza while YD sat in back with 10 month-old Grandbaby#5, without wearing her seatbelt so she could more easily tend to #5. (The car was their second brand-new car in less than a month, by the way, because the first one turned out to be a genuine, irreparable, dangerous lemon. This one was much better.)

SIL#2 had come to a safe stop, along with the flow of traffic, and (fortunately) within a reasonable distance from the car ahead of him, when YD saw him coming. She flung herself over the baby the split second before she felt the impact.

Daughter was slammed around the back seat; SIL#2 smacked his head on the windshield, even though he was wearing his seat belt. No air bags deployed. Thank God for a strong car seat -- a little fear was the worst that the Grandbaby suffered. The new car was, of course, rendered not drivable, but SIL managed to get it limpingly to the shoulder anyway, and without being driven into the car in front of them..

The unlicensed, non-English-speaking driver, with no insurance, who plowed into them at 50 mph in stop and go traffic told the State Trooper, before he was taken away on a stretcher to be treated at a hospital at taxpayer expense, that he had just consumed "solamente tres cervezas." (Only three beers.) And, we all know that "solamente tres cervezas" probably means several mas cervezas than tres.

Is my rage showing?

Pepper pulled into the driveway from running with Grandbaby#1 just as I was pulling out, so he hopped in the car with me and we got to the kids, during rush hour, in record time. I took #2 an ice pack. I'm not sure it helped him, but it helped me to be able to do something.

Today, the day after that sad, sad funeral, just remembering that phone call from Younger Daughter and its aftermath has opened the spigot on my teary faucet. I have sent up countless prayers thanking my good God for sheltering my family and preventing what might have been. My Facebook post thanked God and Toyota for their safety. The kids went to the ER later Wednesday evening with #2's father and his wife and checked out fine, but for the whiplash. They took a goofy photo there that showed them trussed up in neck braces, grinning and flashing thumbs up. YD texted the pic to me and Elder Daughter, captioning it as this year's Christmas card photo. I think the good drugs had kicked in by then.

They were stiff and sore yesterday, and SIL#2 still has a pretty impressive goose egg on his forehead, but they could have been so, so much more worse off. I can't imagine the panic that SIL#2's mother must have felt when she got that call from #2 explaining why they couldn't make it to the visitation.

The stress level at Moogie's Manor is running pretty high right about now, and we can't really put all of this behind us until Tuesday. We will bury that young man in the VA Cemetery on Tuesday -- the first day available for a burial. Pepper worked his contacts to smooth the process for the parents. Thirty-five years of military service pay off in the most unusual ways sometimes.

So. I need to turn my thoughts to happier places in my mind. How about more Spring flower pictures?

This is the bed in the side yard.  We put in the geraniums and croton earlier in the week. The pop of color makes us happy.

This is another view of the bed. The Son and his family gave me that Bottle Tree for Christmas. I really like it. Annnnd, I've added a couple of bottles to it since Christmas!  ;-)

I love the white azaleas beneath the Japanese maple at the top of the driveway.

This is the white dogwood and its companion Japanese maple beside the front door as seen from the dining room windows. I took this pic yesterday because gazing at this natural beauty reveling in the filtered sunlight gave me such a sense of peace.

Tell your loved ones how much they are loved. We are not promised tomorrow.

I hope this is the end of that Case of the Creeps I posted about in March. I think I'll go play in the dirt some more.

Presidents' Day PTSD

Presidents' Day will probably never be the same after 2016.  If there are future presidents.  I mean, other than the Emperor who occupies the White House at present.  I just don't see him willingly packing up and moving on. There's still a lot of Hope and Change to be bulldozed out there, and he is so very skilled at operating the bulldozer.

In just a few short years he has managed to throw a sixth of the nation's economy into turmoil with a few deft strokes of his magic Executive Order pen.  I ran into an old friend at last week's wedding who recently retired from the health insurance biz. She says she left just in time -- clients have been increasingly asking her what's going to happen to this or that provision under Obamacare, and what's the cost going to be for this or that policy, and the only answer she could give them was, "I don't know.  I don't know.  I don't KNOW!!!"

Apparently neither does the White House. Nor Congress.

So, on this Presidents' Day, to let the current occupant of the West Wing know what we think of him, I think we should encourage him to stay in good health by exercising.  Toward that end, we should send him a little gift -- how about a warm-up suit made by a small American company that sells its products in France?  Here is the label that provides cleaning instructions:

Don't you think he'll love it!

Quick!  Someone hide the keys to the heavy equipment!

A Little Holiday Cheer, and Welcome!

I've been incredibly pre-occupied lately, with the house and Christmas and something else kinda exciting that I'll share in a few weeks, so I've been kinda neglecting Moogie's World and the blogosphere.  I'll try to do better, but I can't make any promises, seeing as how I have done very little shopping, and we're getting ready to travel for the holidays, and we have a 10 week old black lab girl puppy!!! 

This is the visual definition of cute (and hell on four large paws!):

 

 

Say hello to Mystic Roux (her mama's name was Roux), more commonly known as Mysti (or other "colorful" pejoratives, e.g., "you little fill-in-the-blank"):



She's getting the house training idea insofar as piddling goes, but we're still working on the poop angle.  Bouie is very good with her -- he plays so gently with her.  Perhaps he understands that she is his email-order bride and he needs to treat her right if he expects to wed her in a year or so.

She has gained over 3 pounds in two weeks, so she has an insatiable appetite.  It's been pretty much a sleep-deprived, multi-ring circus around here since Thanksgiving (we picked her up on the way home from Arkansas).  So, this video that appeared in my Inbox today was a calming, welcome pleasure.  Just look at the children watching in awe. 



I think the puppy needs to watch this. Often.

Lit Up at Moogie's Mansion!

When one has air conditioning, she can believe she's invincible!

And, also having television/cable/internet restored makes Moogie pretty darn awesome.  Except for her hair.  The hair is a lost cause. 

Trust me on this one.

A Much Needed Smile

Crazy times!  Fortieth high school reunion over the weekend, looooong car trip yesterday due to several mishaps involving a satellite radio glitch, truck keys unremembered in Little Rock until we were an hour out of Little Rock (said truck having been left in Jackson, Mississippi, and needing to be picked up), an extra gas and potty stop (see "truck keys unremembered," above), and another brief stop so that Pepper could make his periodic contribution to the traffic treasury fund of Lake Providence. 

The first POD arrived today (Man!  Those things, and delivery system, are some kind of cool!) and needs to be loaded.

If the grandbaby hasn't arrived by then, I turn around and head back to Little Rock on Wednesday for an extended stay after they induce Elder Daughter on Thursday.

It was one-hundred-freakin'-nine degrees in Little Rock last Friday!!!

Bouie's a little freaked out and needy with all the commotion (and especially with all the extra stops on the trip home where he didn't even get to get out of the car, much less go swimming somewhere).

I won't even go to Aurora.

So, when I opened an email today that promised to give me a much-needed smile, and it really did, I thought I'd share it with you.



I hope you experienced a grin.  You're welcome.

The Re-Running of the Bulls

Happy Bastille Day!  Pepper and I have been busy packing and cleaning and cleaning and packing, trying to get Moogie's Mansion on the market.  It's been very rainy here today, but they held the Running of the Bulls, New Orleans style, anyway.  SIL#1's cousin and his wife once again were participants.  She commented on a Facebook picture of them, "It's way too early to be this intoxicated."  Heh.  So, in case you don't remember, here's a re-run of last year's post about the Festival of San Fermin in Nueva Orleans (among other Stuff) --

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Stuff, and Summer Celebrations -- a Little Late, a Little Early -- Eh, Who Cares, We're in the South

It's a miserable, beastly hot Saturday afternoon in New Orleans. I just came in from taking Rosie out -- I swear I worked up a sweat just sitting on the steps in the shade, watching her go around and around in circles. It even smells hot.

Nonetheless, this morning some 9,000 crazy folk, dressed in white with red sashes and neckerchiefs, participated in the 2011 Fiesta del San Fermin de Nueva Orleans -- The Running of the Bulls in New Orleans -- just a couple of days after its famous progenitor took place in Pamplona.

Moogie was not among the 9,000 but at least 2 of SIL#1's cousins were. One wore a red tutu instead of a red sash. She looked adorable, at least she did in the picture she posted on Facebook.

(Photos were stolen from the NOLA.com and a Facebook friend.)

As we tend to do down here, we added our very own twist to the festivities. First off, alcohol is de rigueur. Obviously. If one is to get out in the heat very early on a Saturday in July, one should be adequately lubricated. Note that I did not say, "hydrated."

Next, there are no bulls. Or even cows. Instead, the festival-goers are chased and bludgeoned with foam bats by be-horned New Orleans Roller Girls -- members of the local women's roller derby team.

The after-party will take place tonight and is entitled, "La Fiesta de Pantalones" (The Pants Party). Don't ask me, I don't know why there's a pants party with Spanish food and Latin music, but it does kinda sound like fun.

Also, many of the celebrations of Bastille Day kicked off yesterday. I think my favorite is the Waiters Race, where a whole bunch of waiters compete against one another by running with full trays of cocktails. At Moogie's Mansion, we will be celebrating France's Independence on July 14th by accepting delivery of a new mattress. Excitement abounds around here during the summer.

Finally, here's a re-post of the lizard getting a drink, downloaded from YouTube. The quality is definitely better than the original.


And UPDATE!! The Causeway is still the world's longest bridge over open water, after the Guiness folks added a new category, "Longest Bridge Over Open Water (continuous)!" The Cheating Cheater Chinese now have the "longest bridge over open water (aggregate)." So, I guess sometimes, cheaters do prosper. But record-holding bridges are record-holding bridges, as the article expresses!

About Cheating Cheaters -- it seems that THE Ohio State University "vacated" its wins for the 2010 season, including the Sugar Bowl, which was stolen from the Hogs by various and sundry guys wearing stripes. But, apparently, the Suckeyes don't have to forfeit and they don't have to return the money they got from the good folks at the Sugar Bowl. So, I guess, sometimes, cheaters really prosper.

But, even though it may be hot, life is generally good down here in southeast Louisiana.

It would be even better if some terrorist would blow up the Golf Channel's transmitter. Just sayin'.

Happy Mardi Gras 2012!!!

I briefly tried to post a small political distraction on the iPad, but the App gods had other ideas, so . . .

Happy gorgeous, joyful Mardi Gras!!!!

I'm sleeping for the next day or so.

Random, Unconnected Sunday Thoughts

The second of three Mardi Gras balls is in the rear view. Of course, I actually had to work during this last one instead of simply revelling, so I'm pretty worthless today. I don't remember the last time I spent all day Sunday on the couch without hopping up from time to time to attend to one chore or another. My most noteworthy accomplishment today has probably been to change out rolls of toilet paper and paper towels. I have yet to warm the leftovers for dinner, however, so there may be more strenuous activity in the next few hours. Even though there was no hangover to contend with, I guess I just can't party like it's 1999 anymore.

I already miss football.

For some unbeknownst reason, when I awoke this morning (to let a pushy dog out to attend to his bladder) my voice had dropped at least two octaves. I guess the crud might be returning, just in time for company. So, for the immediate future, just call me Lauren "Moogie" Bacall.

Yeah. We need a few more months of football.

Having two "Mother of the Bride" dresses in the closet from out-of-state weddings does wonders for the Ball wardrobe budget.

Have I mentioned that I miss football?

Our Young President, in my worthy and accurate opinion, is little more than a petulant, arrogant, petty tyrant intent on expanding the reach of a centralized federal government to the point where a representative Republic and separation of powers, as contemplated by the Founders, will fall by the wayside. I just hope it's not too late because we can't wait!

Football. *sigh*

Ductwork. And Gas Pipes.

It appears that Moogie's Mansion has morphed into "The Money Pit."

Total replacement of all the AC ductwork downstairs, and replacement of the (6 year-old) heating unit needed.  While they're removing old ducts, they discover gas leaks.

And, a holiday weekend is coming up.  A holiday weekend with a tropical depression dumping 10 to 20 inches of rain on south Louisiana while I have open ducts under the house.  And no anti-humidifier.  (Hope you get a little bit of it, too, Andy).

::$igh::

How do these things know to happen all at once?!?!  These alone would be bad enough, but we've also started the addition to the Little Rock house where younger daughter and SIL#2 live, and I need to be there during the day!

Who's the Bad Luck Coordinator from Hell?  He'd better stay out of my way, if he knows what's good for him.

Dog Days

Yesterday saw the hottest temperatures in recorded history in Little Rock -- 114 degrees.  (It was only 112 in Needles, for crying out loud!)  That's pretty darn dog-day-qualifyingly hot.

Because of the heat (although in New Orleans, the heat index was 114, but the air temperature was just a measly 90-something), and because I'm still so sputtering mad at all the *stuff* surfacing in that "stop the sky from falling" debt ceiling bill (and the massive stock market sell-off in its wake), I intend to engage in a little fluff. 

Prepare to be subjected to dog pictures.  They make me happy.

Click to enlarge.

Is that an adorable face, or what?  I snapped this one through the front door a few days ago as I was returning from errands.  He was ready to play -- he even had his ratty old rag toy (remnant) in place! 

(The flag hasn't been flying for awhile because we've had so many afternoon summer thundershowers.  You see its reflection as it's leaning in its spot by the front door, waiting to go back up.  Wow!  Do you see what I see?  Three uses of the letter combination of I and T and S in the same sentence, and all used correctly!  How about: They're driving over there to claim their prizes.  Or: It's up to you two to win a prize, too.  Jackpot!)

I indulged myself in a fancy new Kitchenaid mixer last week, and last night I whipped up a batch of cheese souffle in it.  Bouie decided to guard the oven in case there were souffle thieves about.  There weren't any, but he got a taste of souffle anyway for his effort.  Doesn't it look as if he's exerting a lot of effort? 

I don't think you can make the pic big enough to read it, but the shortest kitchen towel on the oven door handle bears a drawing of a feather duster and says, "The house was clean yesterday. Sorry you missed it."   That would indeed be the overarching housekeeping philosophy at Moogie's Mansion.

This expression pretty well embodies my disgust at all-things-federal-government these days.

Or, maybe this one.

(Please disregard all the clothes hanging on the door and stacked on the chair.  We live in a 105 year old house, and folks didn't believe in closets when it was built.)

This one just seems to capture the essence of "dog days of summer."  A large black dog in the hot sun just doesn't want to move around much.

A blind, geriatric shih tzu who has also had several strokes, however, can walk in circles all the live-long day. Until she starts panting too much and I take her in for a drink of water and a nap -- two of her favorite pasttimes these days.  Doesn't her new haircut make her look young and spry?  (I know -- just humor her.)

Naps are always nicer in the air conditioning.  On the parlor couch where one is not really supposed to be napping.  Oh, well.  Sweet dreams Young Prince.

There.  Now I feel much better.  Hope you do, too.

Don't Run Off, Now!

I'm still alive! Just caught up in a whirlwind. Back soon!

Wedding Day, Minus 3 -- and Hello Hurricane Season 2011

So, I'm thinking the tire gods are as angry with me as the Blogger gods have been recently.

I got on the road later than I would have liked (because I had to wait for a UPS delivery requiring a signature -- and the delivery guy was out of treats for Bouie, who was already stressed out by all the packing and taking of Rosie to the kennel early without him. Yeah, he doesn't go until today because Pepper needed company last night. So, I had to dig up some old treats for Bouie because he was wearing his pitiful face. It was a hectic scenario at Moogie's Mansion.)

So, I got on the road later than I would've liked, but early enough to get me to Little Rock in time to get some wedding stuff done. I downed my Wendy's grilled chicken wrap and was settling down on the long I-10 bridge over the spillway when I heard a lot of racket; I couldn't figure out what it was for a bit, and initially thought the beat-up car beside me needed to have its engine looked at, when it dawned on me that I had a flat. Going 65 mph, on a bridge, I had a blowout. In a car that was loaded to the gills with wedding and reception paraphernalia.

Several hours, and USAA Roadside Assistance, later, after kind assistance from a lady state trooper (who offered to help me change the tire!), a tow to a "safe place" (because the Roadside Assistance folk don't change tires on an interstate bridge), and a hefty wait for the tire changer at the truck stop casino (because tow folks don't change tires), I was back on the road. But, by golly, after proving to myself that I could still change a tire a few months back, I had vowed not to do that again, and I remained true to my vow.

I didn't get to Little Rock until after 10:00.

It was a long day.

And all this is to say that posting will probably be sparse the next few days until we buy all the booze in central Arkansas, deliver stuff all over creation, entertain, and marry off the last child. It will be glorious!

I need a nap.

The Great Crisis Moratorium of 2011

Do you know what I'm sick and tired of?

I'm sick and tired of being in the big, fat middle of crisis.

I mean, I was born during the Cold War -- I remember having "Civil Defense Drills" in addition to "Tornado Drills."  Really, like "duck and cover" under your school desk would have had any deterrent effect on a nuclear weapon.  We even had to have plans to get home from school without transportation after the atomic explosion! 

(It's a good thing we never had a real atomic attack because our plan obviously wasn't very good.  On the day of the practice run when I was in about the 4th grade my friend, Susan, and I got lost on the way to her house where my Mama was to pick me up so we could begin life in post-apocalyptic central Arkansas.  Definitely not a good plan.).

There were the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assassination of JFK, the assassination of RFK and MLK (and the ensuing riot in my junior high courtyard by the few neighborhood black students because the flag was flown at half-staff for only 3 days to mourn Dr. King).  There were the Vietnam War, Apollo 13, and school desegregation.

Ah, school desegregation in Little Rock, Arkansas.  Now there was a well-thought-out plan if ever I lived through one.  Not.  Seriously.  Really not.

Having fought against actually doing the desegregating part since 1957, and doing only piecemeal integration in the interim, the LR School District finally got around to integrating the public schools in the early 70s.  But, instead of starting at the elementary level, where young kids could grow up going to school with people whose skin color was different, and learning to be friends the way that kids learn to be friends, they chose to start at the high school level.  With pleasant, easily accepting-of-change adolescents. 

And they didn't just bus everyone around to mix up the races.  No -- they chose to wreck the black community by closing down their high school, Horace Mann, and divvying up all the Mann students among the white high schools via long bus rides.  They also gerrymandered the attendance zones of the white schools, thus messing up all kinds of extra-curricular activities.  And of course, this pleased no one. 

So, there were race riots at my high school and I was in the big fat middle of them.  My parents almost shipped me off to All Saints Boarding School in Vicksburg to finish high school, but my "cooler head" fortunately prevailed.  (Actually, it probably wasn't my cool head -- it was probably my screaming, crying hissy fit at having to leave the high school honey and cheerleading squad).

I lost my mother's mother in September 1977, then I lost my own mother the following month.  She was a few months shy of 46; I was barely 23 and an only child.  That's a crisis.

Crises seemed to die down when I was a young lawyer, wife, and mother -- or maybe I just chose to ignore them.  Well, there was that one incident with our baby daughter in intensive care with meningitis for several weeks, and we had our fair share of bad weather and stock market "corrections" during those years, I suppose. (Yeah -- that was a pretty spiffy little "correction" that landed us a 13% adjustable rate mortgage when we moved into our second home in 1983.)  There were probably lots of natural disasters, too.

But, holy cow!  Skipping over the Clinton years (and the teenage years of the daughters), since 9/11 it seems like the crises are non-stop!

International markets fluctuating wildly. Popes dying.  Volcanoes erupting and stopping trans-Atlantic flights.  Pirates.  Wars in far-away places.  Funky viral illnesses and super-bugs.  Tsunamis and earthquakes and tornadoes.  The Oil Spill and shut-down of drilling and fishing in the Gulf.  The Obama administration.

Katrina.

And now, the Great Flood of 2011.  (And the "survivors' guilt" that comes with it.)

And the termites are swarming, which means they're busy making all kinds of new, baby termites.  These are freaking termites, not snowflakes.

I'm sick and tired of feeling anxious.

And, despite being on 5 doses daily of 2 different antibiotics for 5 days, I still can't knock out this stupid infection, and if I wind up in the hospital on IV antibiotics I'll ruin my baby girl's wedding shower next weekend (and if I wind up on steroids, I'll swell up and will look like a sausage stuffed into my Mother of the Bride dress, and we. just. simply. can't. have. that!!).

So, from this moment forward (until after June 8th, at least) I am calling for a moratorium on Crises.

C'mon! Who's with me!  Seriously, I'm a little cranky here -- who's with me?!?!

One More Happy-Tired Post-lette

Heading south tomorrow after a bachelorette weekend with a wonderful group of young women in an ideal setting, great food/beverages, fun-and-games, and thoroughbred racing. Of the equine variety.

My primary function, in addition to being mother of the bride-to-be, was as executive chef and designated driver.

Once again, I'm really tired.

But, it's a happy tired.