I had gone shopping with my mother when she came for a visit. We had super fun time. She bought me this outfit, everything except the red boots. I bought those a few weeks earlier. My amazing husband didn't think they were a practical purchase. COME ON! These are red boots we're talking about. OF COURSE they are PRACTICAL!! Frankly, I think they make the outfit.

She gives hugs. I love her so much. One day...

Cadance tasted her very first apple.

October Activities

The brisk fall weather was cut short by record breaking high temperatures for three days straight. YUCK! But, it seems that we are finally on a declining degree slope. It's about time. Unfortunately, my amazing husband is in a funk about the whole situation. Turns out that he loathes the fall season. He said he'd rather experience a summer in Iraq than tolerate an autumn. Dang. That's bad.

What a shame. Autumn is my favorite. How can two people so completely different be perfect for one another?

My October schedule is jammed packed with activity. The farm is keeping me busy during the days and rehearsal keeps me busy in the evening. We did have a show cancel, but it's okay because I picked up another job for that night. Well, it's not really a job because there is no money involved. It's more of a volunteer gig. I think it'll be super fun.

Fort Leavenworth offers tours of the haunted homes on post. The Rookery is a particularly noted haunted house. Folks who have lived there claim to have seen the ghost that still resides in the home. She's the Lady in White and apparently not the nicest ghost around. She likes to push people.

For the touring visitors, I shall portray the Lady in White. Hopefully, I won't have a run in with the real Lady in White. If I do, I shall ask if she approves. They say imitation is the highest form of flattery. I have a spectacular ghost costume complete with crazed white wig. I'll also have a fog machine and strobe lights. It'll be a gas.

Summer is over

Now that the fall season is upon us, my schedule is crazy.

Between Wanda's place and Red Barn Farm, I work every single day from now until the first weekend of November, with the exception of home football games. Even then, I have to miss at least two of those games because of dinner theater rehearsals. Yep, toss in a few rehearsals and performances into the mix and I have a whirlwind fall season planned.

Amidst all of this, the Hanson Halloween Bash will be held this year. Last year was a bust. We had only been here a few months and didn't know enough people to actually have a memorable event. BUT, this year is different.

Our foreign exchange student, Mona, is excited about Halloween, American Style. She already has her costume. I have to get her a big pumpkin so she can carve her very first jack-o-lantern. Although there are not nearly as many trick-or-treaters here as there were in Germany, it will be fun for her. She has already said she plans on taking every kids' picture.

Kansas City has several permanent haunted houses that go all out for Halloween. We did not attend any of them when we were stationed here in 2001 nor did we attend any last year. BUT, this year is different.

I anticipate a super scary encounter. The haunted houses that show up in Golden, Colorado are scary. Much more so than I would have ever suspected.

The haunted house experience in Germany was NOT scary at all. Despite having ambulances at the ready for anyone having heart palpatations, the scariest Halloween event in Germany was mild compared to Golden's production.

I can only imaging what big time haunted houses in a metropolitan area can produce.

YIKES!

Evening horse chores

Wanda and Dick decided they needed to take a vacation. They also needed someone to look after the horses while they were gone. Naturally, I was at the front of the line to take on the responsibility.

I was to arrive at the farm early to get them fed and turned out into the pasture. I also had to feed the barn cats and the new bunch of kittens. Some horses needed medication and some needed supplements. A few needed more hay than others and some were to receive no hay. All needed love.

On days when I would be unable to return to the farm late in the day to bring the horse back into the stalls, another woman provided that service. Sometimes, we flip-flopped.

One particular evening, I arrived with my amazing husband around 6:00 p.m. As he is definitely NOT a horse person, I gave him brief instructions for putting on a halter and the proper leading technique. He is an animal lover and a quick study. He did beautifully. Just when he was gaining confidence, he was challenged.

In one pasture, three mares anxious waited by the gate. Mae, a saddlebred with an intimating personality, Chancey, a spirited pinto/quarterhorse, and Molly, an elderly passive girl. Out of the three, I thought my husband would be most comfortable with Molly. She would give him no trouble. Unfortunately, I had misjudged.

I had haltered Chancey and Kirby had Molly haltered and ready to go. Mae, the dominate mare of the bunch, protested. Chancey, with urgency, backed away from Mae and closer to Molly. Chancey spun around presenting the business end to Molly. Not wanting a confrontation, she pushed against Kirby. Although, my husband is physically fit, he is unable to stand tall against a motivated horse. As Molly invaded his personal space, he backed away and into the fence.

"Hey!" he yelped. "Is this fence electric?"

"Yes. Why? Did you get zapped?"

"Yes. Stupid horse. She tried to kill me." He scowled.

"Oh, she did not. She was trying to get away from Mae and Chancey."

Once those three were safely put away, we moved onto the next pasture. Sailor and Flame are two energetic geldings. Flame is the more docile of the two as Sailor has underdeveloped social skills. I have had him rush the gate and shove his way past me and gallop toward the barn. I didn't want by husband to be too overwhelmed by the evening, so I opted to take Sailor. He led Flame. Neither of us had any difficulty.

Walking past the pasture holding Legacy and Cody, I noticed Legacy remained standing in the corner while Cody walked to the gate. Normally, the horses known when it is time to come inside and they all wait at the gate. Legacy's behavior surprised me.

After Flame and Sailor were put away, I directed my husband to retrieve Cody. He's a pony and friendly. Legacy is a loving recently gelded stallion. Sometimes he tosses his head and to the unknowing, this action can be scary. When I entered the pasture, I expected him to approach. He didn't. He stayed where he was, tossing his head and calling to me. I immediately knew something was wrong.

I was correct. After putting on his halter and gently encouraging him to walk, he didn't. He would put no weight on his left front leg. He stayed put. I decided to let him alone while I brought all the others inside.

Kirby and I tended to Brittanee and Zoe, two big girls. As I haltered Zoe, Kirby attempted to halter Brittanee. I reassured my wonderful husband that Brittanee would give him no trouble. She is a well-behaved girl and eager to come inside for her dinner. Unfortunately, it didn't turn out like that.

Brittanee was agitated. She refused to hold still, wouldn't put her head down and huffed and snorted. She stomped her back feet and shifted from side to side.

"Screw this!" Kirby exclaimed as he threw down the halter and lead rope and quickly walked away from Brittanee.

I couldn't see what the problem was until Brittanee shoved passed Zoe and me. She started bucking and spinning around. That's when I noticed the giant horsefly buzzing at her withers. Brittanee HATES horseflies. I quickly came to her rescue, shoeing way the fly. Once it was gone and no longer an issue, she settled down immediately.

I told my husband everything was okay.

"Did you see that? She tried to kill me."

Eventually, my amazing husband was able to put the halter on her and calmly lead her to the stall.

We brought all the horses inside without further incident. All except Legacy. He was still standing in the same place.

When I initially noticed something was wrong, I put a call into the emergency vet and contacted Linlee, another farm helper.

She came most haste and together we brushed Legacy and kept him company. I didn't know how long he had been standing there so I brought him his grain and a bucket of water. His injury did not hamper his appetite and he got straight to work gobbling down his dinner.

As the weather turn ugly, Linlee and I decided we needed to get Legacy inside away from lightening. I didn't force him. I didn't even use a lead rope. I softly encouraged him to follow. He was clearly in pain and each step was agony. It pained me to watch.

Around 9:00 p.m. the vet arrived. He examined Legacy, took his temperature, gave him an injection of anti-inflammatory/pain killer and handed me a tube of medicinal paste to administer over the next two days. Legacy was to remain in his stall for the next two days as the ground was muddy and slick. Were Legacy to slip and fall, he may do further damage to his leg. I was given instructions to give Legacy his paste and call the vet with his status in the morning.

For an activity that should have taken no longer than an hour, the outing to the barn lasted nearly four hours.

By the next evening, Legacy had recovered and all was well at Oakmont. My husband, however, took a little bit longer to get back to normal.

I Need a Massage

My agenda is jam packed! Between dinner theater, Red Barn Farm, Oakmont Farm, video productions and substituting (yes, already) I have little time for anything else.
Well, yesterday I did, but I didn't do anything.

I woke up. Ate. Watched TV. Ate. Napped. Watched more TV. Accomplished ZERO.

The night before, I had a dinner theater performance in a town about an hour away from where I live. Well, my wonderful husband did not attend that performance. That meant, I had to drive. Not too big of a deal except that I don't see well at night. The entire drive home I was a tense bundle of nerves. The next morning...MAJOR BACK PAIN. Yep. My back was in a giant knot. It took all day sitting with a heating pad and a rub down with Tiger Balm before I could turn my head without wanting to cry.

All is better today. But...I have a show tonight in a town about an hour away. Thankfully, my amazing husband is taking the afternoon off to drive me to the restaurant. He is so wonderful. He's doing it out of the kindness of his heart. He won't even get dinner out of the deal. This particular venue does not provide any complimentary meals to the actors. It's a bummer. As the meal/show ticket costs $35 and he has already seen the show, he is opting for no meal. I suspect he'll drop me off, drive around town and see what else he can see then return to pick me up. It's all good.

I'm so thankful he's doing this for me.

I have to substitute tomorrow. I can't imagine how miserable I would be trying to tame 6th and 7th and 8th grade children with a muscle cramp in my back.

Dirty Little Secret

During the week long orientation for the new employees of the very first T-Rex restaurant, I was my typical self. Very motivated, excited and enthusiastic. I was encouraged by the members of the store's management staff and by members of the company's management staff to keep up the positive energy.

Once we finally were able to enter our section, the trainers and a retail manager encouraged me to find a "shout out" to keep the employees excited and generate curiosity as to what all the excitement is about. I decided to shout out "Meteor shower! Duck and cover!" every time the meteor shower roared through the building. They told me is was a great idea and to definitely do it.

After about three times, I was told in no uncertain terms to stop.

So, the morning of the grand opening, I was asked to take half a group of Boys and Girls Club children through the Paleo Zone. Of course, I would. That's why I was there, to entertain and education children. Excellent.

Shortly before the media crews were invited in the restaurant for the first time, I was taken into the back room by my area manager. Apparently, he was told by his superiors to address my attitude. I was "too flag wavy" and should be asked to refrain myself from the media attention. Although I didn't have to disappear, it would be better if I simply kept to myself and keep my excitement to a minimum.

Imagine my surprise. I was hired for my positive attitude, for my effervescent personality, my outgoing and energetic demeanor. I was hired specifically for the Paleo Zone, specifically to interact with children. Swallowing my disbelief, I told my manager it wasn't his fault and I went back to the Paleo Zone to sweep sand.

That's when a friendly voice advised me to not listen to what had been said. Apparently, my co-worker had heard the discussion. Well, actually, he had heard the conversation between the higher-ups and my manager.

Instantaneously, my callous facade burst and I made the decision to go home. I headed for the back room, my eyes welling up. By the time my manager shut the office door, I was sobbing. With great effort, I spoke as precisely as I could between tears and sniffles. I explained that upper management had errored when not discussing my "flag waving" enthusiasm in private. I explained that the majority of my life had been shadowed with feedback describing me as "abrasive, harsh, brash, flippant, abrupt, cold-hearted and as a bitch." Never had I been counseled for being too happy. I explained that I had wanted the job. I didn't NEED the job. I WANTED the job. I was under the impression that I had been hired because of my energy to work with children. Being told to keep out of sight simply because media would be there, was a slap in the face. I would not be treated as a dirty little secret, nor would I be swept under the carpet.

My manager, also upset and teary-eyed, apologized for the whole situation. He, too, had been under the impression that my attitude was a positive thing. I had been his "prize" hire and they were please with having "crazy Kelly" working with them. I told him that I didn't hold him responsible for his superiors' mistake, but I would be leaving and I would not be returning.

And....so ends my career with T-Rex.

My Calendar

Turns out that my deep subconscious freaks out when a blank spot appears on my calendar. For some unexplained reason, a mystery of the universe, I am compelled to fill each box with some type of scheduled activity.

Recognizing this flaw, I went out and got myself yet another job. Yep.

Just call me a Paleo Activity Guide. There is a new shopping center called Village West. It's about 18 miles from my house and near the speedway racetrack. It is an outdoor mall complete with fountains and bronze sculpture. Lots of benches upon which visitors can rest and watch the people. There is a movie theater, Dave & Buster's, Home Decorator, Nike, Tommy Hilfiger, Hot Topic, American Eagle, Outback Steakhouse and many, many other eating establishments and shops.

T-Rex is a prehistoric family adventure where visitors can eat, shop, explore and discover. It is similar to the Rainforest Cafe. Being owned by the same parent company, it makes sense. So, it is now my job to host tours of small children to a place where Dinosaurs come to life among caves, waterfalls and geysers. Children can practice archeology and dig for bones and/or pan through the water runoff for bits of bone fragments. Additionally, children can mine for geodes and even "build a dinosaur" in a similar fashion to the "Build a Teddy Bear" store. It all sounds exciting.

During my interview, I was certain to mention that I currently give barnyard tours to children in an educational setting. Same job, different topic. Instead of cows and chickens at Red Barn Farm, I'll be doing Brontosaurus and Tyrannosaurus Rex. On the farm, visitors don't have to worry about being eaten by the attractions.

My calendar no longer has vacant boxes. T-Rex starts July 10th. There are several managers at T-Rex, one for each area (restaurant, retail, paleo, etc). I informed the big-wig manager that I would give full-time, but they would have to work with me so that I can still do Red Barn Farm, Dinner Theater, Oakmont Farm and eventually substituting in the fall. Additionally, if filming of the "movie" begins, I'll need time to go off and do that. THEN, if something pans out with Exposure, Inc. , to which I submitted my packet this morning, I'll have to have some time off for that.


All of this frenzied activity does have a purpose.
There is a reason for the maddness.

A day at the Red Barn Farm

The other day at the Red Barn Farm, I was giving my normal tour to elementary school children. Just as I was escorting them to the restroom to have them wash their hands, I noticed they were not behind me. Several were distracted by something near the mule barn. That caused others to investigate. Pretty soon, I was standing by wondering what my children were examining.

Then I heard the word snake.

Well, being Farmer Kelly and wanting to present a good impression to the children, I made a conscious decision to pick up the snake. See, we teach the children that Black Snakes are the farmer's friend because they eat the mice and rats that eat the animals feed and grain. They also are territorial and keep away other "bad" snakes.

I figured that if we teach that Black Snakes are good, then why shouldn't I accept this snake as any other barnyard animal and pick it up. I pick up the chickens, the pigs, the lambs, the calves (okay, push them around), the ducks and the geese (when they aren't attacking me). All of those animals are friends of the farmer. So, I picked it up.

Outside, I told the children all the wonderful things that Black Snakes do for the farmer. Inside, I kept thinking "WHAT AM I DOING? I SHOULD NEVER HAVE PICKED THIS THING UP!!" Another farmer tour guide, Judy, asked me to hang on while she got her camera. In my best I-am-not-worried voice, I said okay. Inside, I was screaming, "HURRY UP!"

While telling the children all the wonderful things about the snake, I noticed it kept sliding its head out of my grasp. I had to make adjustments to keep its head in control. Its body touched me bare arm and I was surprised at how cold it was. That's probably why it was so easy to catch: it was cold. Still waiting on Judy, I stood there and let the children touch it. I was careful to keep its head securely in my hand. Oh yeah, I was wearing gloves. No way would I have picked it up without gloves. Anyway, the children were fascinated.

Then it maneuvered its body around my leg and really grabbed hold. Even though I knew in my mind that this was a friendly snake and not a poisonous snake nor a constrictor, I was distressed having it securely affixed around my thigh.

"Oh, Judy. You really need to hurry up. Farmer Kelly really wants to put this guy down."

"Oh Kelly, I'm sorry. I forgot my camera today. Go ahead and put it down."

"Thanks, Judy." Hmmm, thanks a whole hell of a lot. "Okay, children. Farmer Kelly is now going to let this big guy go on about his business. I'll just put him right back where I found him. Okay."

After that, just as smooth as you please, I lead the children off to the restrooms to wash hands before lunch. They all thought I was absolutely amazing. Inside, my stomach was flippy-floppy and my heart was pounding.

Seriously, though....WHAT WAS I THINKING?!

Hurry up, Judy! I want to put this thing down!!!

What was I thinking? Just another day at Red Barn Farm.

Happiness Is...

I rode Blue this morning. As always, she is a delight and can do no wrong. Even when being recalcitrant, Blue is perfect. Folks may talk about that big horse who chooses to defy by being lazy, and I have to respond, "Not Blue. She would never do such a thing."

I progressed to a trot. Then, accidentally, to a canter. Oops.

No harm done. Actually, I learned why Blue had transitioned to a canter. It wasn't her fault at all. It was all my fault. By loosing balance and focus, I unintentionally asked her for a canter. Turns out Blue is one smart horse.

Oakmont Farm finally has their website up. I invite you to check it out and learn more about where I spend several hours a week.

My time is divided between Oakmont and Red Barn Farm. Both are equally fabulous and are synonymous with happiness.

Yep. I took this picture. I also planted the bulbs. I think this could be a postcard or maybe blown up to an 8X10 print.

Aren't they pretty?

This is my desktop picture.

The bulbs were planted last November.

Flower in my garden.

Another thing that geese are good for---Christmas Dinner!

Nice bite behind my knee.

Straight out of a Hitchcock movie.

When Animals Attack

I filled out a questionnaire earlier this morning. One of the questions caused me pause and I tried to define my occupation into one word. I failed miserably. I ended up answering that particular question with "eclectic, entertaining substitute teacher, actor, writer, barn hand, and farmer."

The actual description of farmer isn't exactly what I do. My title is Farmer Kelly and I give barnyard tours to elementary school children. The Weston Red Barn Farm is one of my most favorite places in the entire world. Even when it's cold, wet and muddy or hot, dusty and sweaty, Red Barn Farm is the happiest place on earth. Way better than Disney Land. Okay, I would agree that not everyone would agree with my opinion, but since this is MY blog, I adamantly declare Red Barn Farm FABULOUS.

As a tourguide Farmer, I educate the visiting children about barnyard animals and how farmers and pioneers used the animals and land to live.

There are pigs. Pigs are important to farmers because pigs are good for bacon, sausage, pork chops and ham. Not only that, but also bubble gum, make up and paint brushes. Pigs eat everything, except for glass, metal and plastic.

There are chickens. They are good for eating; fried chicken, chicken pot pie, chicken nuggets, chicken tenders, Bar-B-Q chicken, lemon chicken, baked chicken, chicken burritos, chicken enchiladas. I could go on and on. The girl chickens (hens) lay eggs and the boy chickens (roosters) wake up the farm. They also help make more chickens, but that is a bit too much detail for elementary tours.

There are cows and bulls: a Jersey milking cow (Myrtle), a , Hereford beef steer (Bob), two baby bull Holstiens (Cutter and Cornelius). We get milk and all those wonderful dairy products from milking cows like Myrtle. We get hamburger and steak from cows like Bob and those baby bulls...well they'll end up making more Holstien cows for milk and will eventually end up as hamburger meat. Again...too much information for the children. I tell them how cows eat and inevitably one will poop and then I have to explain that what goes in also comes out.

I tell them about horses, both gigantic ones like the Belgian draft horse that is on the farm and miniature ones like the four mares and one gelding. There is also a donkey and I explain the differences between the three types of equines.

The farm also has turkeys, sheep, a goat, ducks and geese.

Several years ago, there was a mean grey goose. Being a boy, he was a gander, but mean nonetheless. He was not-so-affectionately named Gooszilla. The farmer tourguides stayed outside of the goose pen because Gooszilla liked to bite. If you have ever been bitten by a goose, you will know that it really hurts.

Alas, Gooszilla went to heaven (or more likely became some bobcat's dinner) and the goose pen was once more safe to enter.

This past fall, the farm had one brown goose, a white goose and a white gander. As there are several breeds of geese and the children don't really care what kind of goose they are looking at, I really haven't research what breed these three geese are. All I know is that they are all a different breed and one is a Peking goose. Last fall they were fairly docile and it was relatively easy to catch one, hold it out for the children to see and point out all the differences between a water bird and a land bird.

Then spring came.

The brown goose or maybe the white goose laid an egg. It's difficult to determine which goose laid it as they both sit on it. What is not difficult to determine is exactly which one is the gander. He is the biggest bird in the pen and turns out, the meanest. Seems he has become very aggressive over his girls and the egg.

I learned that about three minutes too late.

When I entered the pen, he came straight for me; hissing and honking with wings spread. I thought, "Cool. This will be easy to catch him." Wrong. He probably thought the same exact thing about me.

As I bent down to catch him, he bit me. Lucky for me, he only grasped my pants with his beak. Then he got a better grip. With each bite, he twisted and shook my leg. I tried to get him off of me, but he just wasn't letting go. That's when the beating started. He spread his wings and began whacking me. The front bones in the wings are much stronger than I ever would have guessed and he pounded me with venom. I managed to escape the onslaught, but not for long. He regrouped and attacked again. This time, he grabbed my other leg. More biting. Once he got a good solid grip, he stared beating me again. By now, I strongly voiced my concern and screamed like a little school girl. Keep in mind, I have a class of kindergarteners and three adult chaperones watching. That's right...WATCHING.

I managed to escape the clutches of the demon gander's beak only to be trapped by him. He had military manueverability skills to rival Rommel and herded me into the corner of the pen where the onslaught continued. So much for the tour and looking remotely adept in the eyes of young children. I leaped over the small fence and stayed several feet away from a craning neck.

Mustering up some pride on confidence, I continued with the tour and completed it with no further difficulties. Once I had the children off to the restroom to scrub their hands with soap, soap is your friend, soap, soap, soap, I told the story of the formidable fowl to another farmer. I then learned that the behavior I had experienced is called "flogging." Real farmers will tell you it's not the biting you have to worry about; it's the flogging.

Oh, yeah...turns out several farmers had witnessed the pummeling. Funny how nobody came to my aid. They stood there and watched, apparently "in" on the joke. Seems they had already been warned of the gander's aggressive behavior earlier in the week and didn't tell me.

So, now, I am ashamed to admit that I had my butt kicked by a bird.

Close Encounter with Destiny

Horses are big, powerful creatures. Even the miniature horses are strong. Humans are physically inferior to equines. It makes sense. Horse are a prey animal. Zebras have to fight and/or escape from lions or else they are lunch. Lions are very big and very powerful with very big teeth and very big claws, both of which are good for killing and ripping apart flesh. It just seems appropriate that horses would be nervous and capable of fighting back.

Horses are also social animals. As expected, social animals have a hierarchy and communication skills. Unfortunately, humans don't speak horse and horses don't speak human. Horses speak horse. After being around horses, it becomes apparent that horses enforce the hierarchy with gentle nudges, which when the animal weighs 1100 pounds is quite significant. They also use aggressive nudges, kicks and bites.

So, imagine my surprise...

The other day, I was out in the pasture with the three mares that I see every Tuesday and Thursday. Blue is the dominate mare. She is 1/4 Clydesdale, 1/4 thoroughbred and 1/2 Dutch Warmblood and a BIG girl. Next in the herd is Brittany. She is a beautiful chestnut mare and stands just as tall as Blue, but not as thick. Then there is the lowest ranking mare, Destiny. She is an Andalusian and compared to the other girls, she is on the small side.

When all three are in the small paddock area near the barn, all is well. They know their places. Sometimes Destiny gets a tad too close to the action and Brittany quickly reminds her that she must wait her turn. Destiny submits and patiently waits.

Once the three have moved into the larger pasture area, things change. Destiny gets to be too big for her breeches. I tried to encourage her to move into the paddock area. Well, she was having none of that and trotted away from me. So, I waited and eventually she came back. I got too close and she walked away. That's when the bribes started. First some treats. She was too smart for that and knew I wanted her to come in and require her to work. So, hay was added. That didn't work much better.

When both bribes were combined, she finally came close to the paddock. A few encouraging pats and she scampered away. The bribes were too good to ignore for long and she inched her way back. Another friendly pat and Destiny took off. For good measure...KATOW!

She let me have it. Full force with perfect extension with uncanny accuracy, she planted her hoof smack on my bum. Let's just say I have a beautiful impression of her foot on my butt. No need to have her present to measure her hoof for a shoe. I know EXACTLY how big her foot is.

I suppose it's just one more right of passage. So far, I've been stepped on, fallen and now kicked. As of yet, no broken bones. I'm certain those will come in time.

Here Kitty Kitty

For quite some time now, my daughter has wanted a cat. My husband, the personification of patience, and I have refused to allow this to happen.

We have three terriers who would just love to "play" with the kitty. Kitty box crunchies are just too tempting for the pups. We are a military family and move frequently. My daughter who would be 100% responsible for the cat makes little effort to tend to the dogs thus conveying the possibility of cat neglect. Plus, she will be off to college in two years. College dormitories do not permit animals. My husband and I just don't want to end up taking care of a cat.

The other day, I had to take our Westie, Jake, to the vet. He has managed to destroy his ACL in one of his legs. Yep, our buddy needs some surgery, but that's a whole different story. More on that later.

Anyway, as I waited in line to pay for the office visit, the man in front of me was paying to the spaying of a cat. He asked the receptionist if she wanted to keep the cat. Well, my ears purked up and I listened to the conversation. Seems this man's wife kind of collects cats. Together, they have 12 outside cats and four inside cats. This particular cat was destined to be an outside cat. That seems like a bleak existence to me, especially since I believe all pets should be a member of the family. You wouldn't leave your kid outside. I hate to see dogs chained in the back yard and left alone. That's cruel. Dogs are social animals and need love and attention. Ah, but that is yet another soap box. Back to the cat.

I inquired if the man was serious about giving away his cat. He certainly was. So, I went back to the recovery room and took a look at her. She is a 7 month old spayed female. And...she was very affectionate.

So, the cat came home.

I told my daughter that she had to purchase all the necessary accessories for the cat that evening and bring them home when she got off from work. She asked,"What about Dad?" I told her we would just keep it secret. Hide the cat. Let him discover her on his own and then we would play silly and say that the cat had been living in the house for a while.

All went well. The dogs were very, very curious and Sydney want to play so badly. Unfortunately, the cat had ZERO interest in playing. To magnify her displeasure with the idea, she hissed and took a swing. Sydney got the message loud and clear. Annabelle didn't readily get the hint and need a bit more forceful display of intolerance. Jake just sat and barked.

After a while, Jordan went off to work and the dogs quieted down. At the end of the work day, I drove to my husband's work to give him a ride home. I was in his office about 90 seconds before I innocently advised him that I had done something.

By my demeanor, he knew it was something big. At first, he asked if I wrecked the car. I admitted I brought home a kitty for Jordan. He wasn't pleased, but tolerated what I had done. I also told him that he was not to know about the cat and play surprised when Jordan came home.

Well, that idea didn't last long either. Jordan called me from Wal-Mart and asked about what kind of litterbox to get. She was excited and nervous all at the same time. She was delighted about having the kitty, but terrified at what her dad would say. So, I let her off the hook and told her that I had already let the cat out of the bag.

When she did come home that evening, she brought in a shopping bag filled with kitty things. My sweet sweet man of a husband played stupid and began to carry on like a crazy man. Jordan shrugged it off and said she already knew that he knew.

So, my husband, although irritated, pet the kitty. I've caught him petting the kitty, kitty several times since the cat came home She's still not 100% comfortable with the dogs, but she's getting braver by the day. I hope that they will all be able to get along and maybe even play. Keeping my fingers crossed.

Oh, my daughter named the cat Nona.

Crafty

I love to make beautiful things.

My first adventure in crafts was making bows. It took lots and lots and lots of practice, but I have conquered to task. I can make beautiful bows. Thank you very much.

Then I started making wreaths. Well, my mother is far better at making wreaths than I am. I just had to find my niche. So, when Halloween rolled around, I make the coolest, creepiest Halloween wreath. It had spiders, spiderwebs, black and orange gunks of glitter, black tulle ribbon, and a big raven. Too, too cool.

Then I discovered scrapbooking. It wasn't too far a leap to stamping. We, okay...my husband, call it crap and stamping. I have accumulated an entire closet and a dresser full of crap and stamp stuff. I am such a sucker for colorful paper.

Just when I became comfortable with that crafty medium, I decided that I could make gift baskets. In a shop where I worked last year, there were small wicker baskets for sale. They were nothing special and were selling for $10. I thought that was outrageous, especially since yard sales are the best place to buy baskets. BING. A light went off inside my head and I said to myself, "Self, you can make cuter baskets than that and for a lot less money." So, out on adventure to find good baskets, cheap. Those yard sales were a goldmine. Nearly all of the baskets I bought that weekend were 25 cents. The most expensive one, which was also the biggest cost 75 cents.

Fall theme, for me, is easy. So, I picked up thousands and thousands of acorns off my lawn. I also picked up about a million of these prickly, seed pod, ball things from one of the trees on my property. Then, I invested a couple of bucks on spray varnish and glue. Wouldn't you know, my baskets are beautiful.

Soooooo, I mentioned all of this to my beautician. She requested I make her a spring wreath and a gift basket. She said she wanted to get an assortment of greeting cards to put in the gift basket. I chimed right up and told her that I make greeting cards, too. She was thrilled and told me to make a stationery gift basket. No problem. Cake and pie.

I'm hoping that she'll be thrilled and tell all of her friends about it. Then, I just might be able to make a few bucks to support my crap and stamp habit.

Many fingers in many pies

And another adventures....

Last week, my amazingly wonderful husband and I were interviewed to become sponsor parents for a foreign exchange student. As we have a lovely daughter (age 16), my husband, the very protective father that he is, laid down the ground rules, namely NO BOYS. I readily agreed. The last thing we need is a budding romance.

We were given a choice between three girls. The first one was from Czech Republic. Her initial profile was interesting. She sounded like she would fit into our family quite nicely. The second young lady was from Belgium. She had some emotional baggage that we just weren't keen on inviting into our lives. The third girl was from Germany. Her profile sounded like she would be perfect for us. She seems to be outgoing, but then again, anyone who would sign up to be a foreign exchange student would have to be outgoing. She indicated she enjoys sports, horses, and watching TV, especially Friends. She is also excited about cooking a typical German meal for her sponsor family. Cool deal. Since we lived there, we know what she's talking about. I'm excited for her to come, which won't be until the beginning of next school year. We'll have her for 9 months. Yep, my husband and I are actually inviting another teenage girl into our home. Just a couple of gluttons for punishment.

As of today...my 16 year old daughter got her driver's license. That's a whole different set of worries. Yikes. I sent her on her very first solo drive today. Granted it wasn't too difficult a task, but she was sure excited. I'm happy for her. Nervous, but happy.

Wait, there's more.
This past Saturday, I went to a horse show. In one arena, folks were competing in dressage (that's the fancy pants and horse dancing) and in the arena across the street, cowboys were doing rodeo. Two totally different worlds of horses, but I loved every second of it.

I visited the stock pen and checked out the horses, steers, calves, and bulls. Two bicycle policemen came over to get a closer look at the bulls. Turns out they had never seen bulls and had some questions. As I have been to several rodeos in my time, I explained to them about the different animals and what each would be used to do. Just so happens that I know more about rodeo than I do about dressage, but it's the dressage I'm learning to do. Yep, I'm expanding my horizons. Just one more finger in one more pie.

Because I think that all animals need to enjoy a treat, I asked the stockmen if it would be okay to feed the stock horses a carrot.

They chuckled to themselves and said, "If you think you can get them to come close enough, sure."

With a bit of encouragement and the natural curiosity of horses, several came over to investigate. I suspect none of them had ever eaten a carrot. My friend who was with me asked the stockmen if the horse ever came inside. I knew those horses had spent their whole lives outside. The stockmen looked at my friend like she was from another planet.

I explained, "We take care of the barn babies across the street. Those guys are spoiled on a daily basis."

They nodded.

Then I asked if it would be okay if I were to give them apples. My friend asked them if the horses had ever eaten an apple.

"No. Apples don't grow in North Dakota," one cowboy said.

I replied, "The only thing that grows in North Dakota is snow." I went back over to the dressage arena and obtained two Red Delicious apples.

Once the rodeo stock horses tasted the apples, there was no hesitancy anymore. Turns out, they LOVE apples. I suspect I turned them into sissies.

Wait, there's more.

So, today after scooping lots of poop, I mounted my big girl, Blue and began my lesson. I walked her around cones in a circle and then in figure eights. Eventually, I got the hang of what I was supposed to be doing. When the instructor would give me some direction, I stopped concentrating on the horse and focused on the instructor. As soon as I did that, my horse stopped working. Blue needs a constant, consistent rider else she just stops. Basically, she's on the lazy side.

As if I don't have enough going on in my daily routines, on April 1st, I'm sticking my finger into another pie. Auditions for the spring dinner theater productions are that afternoon. I'm hopeful that I'll be cast.

The fellow who runs the theater troop mentioned an October job. He said he would refer my name and give me kudos to conduct haunted home tours. He said the money is good and thinks I would be good at it. That's encouraging.

There's always something on my plate.

Break a leg

My actor bio went something like...recently discovered for her effervescent enthusiasm as a murder mystery theater audience member and makes her theatrical debut with the Leavenworth Players Group in Murder at Paddy Kelly's Irish tavern or a St. Patrick's Day to Die For. The well-traveled, published author thanks her husband for his undying support in her eclectic endeavors.

Opening night went extremely well. I made two mistakes. The first one was in the end of the third section. I stepped on a laugh line. The second mistake was at the very end. I totally dropped a line, but I don't think anyone even noticed....except for other cast members.

I was supposed to serve for Table 10. I had expected 8 people. When I showed up for the call time, I discovered that my 8-top was down to a 7-top. When guests began to arrive, the number 7 guy wanted to sit with his friends at another table. So, my 7-top was now down to 6. By the opening act, two of my patrons had not arrived. So, I ended up with a 4-top. That was very disappointing. It also meant that my tip potential was, in a word.......pitiful. Lucky for me, one couple seated in my section was my personal guest and they tipped me well. Had it not been for them, I would have ended up being able to afford only two chicken soft tacos and a medium drink from Taco Bell. Even then, I wouldn't end up with any change.

There are two more shows. One is on March 16th and the last one on March 19th. Hopefully, I'll have more folks to serve. More folks = more alcoholic beverages = higher tab = more tips.

Today, I am a professional

This past Friday evening, my husband and I enjoyed a murder mystery dinner theater. Being that this is the month of hearts and flowers and love, The Saint Valentines Day Murder Mystery or Rubout at Uncle Vinny's seemed appropriate. We had a delightful time.

My husband fell in love with me years ago when I took him to see the stage performance of The Phantom of the Opera. Turns out, live entertainment has become something of a specialty for us. We have enjoyed plays, musicals, comedy clubs and now we've added dinner theater to our adventures. Each time we attend a performance, I say to myself that acting looks fun. It certainly doesn't appear to be difficult, at least not the acting part. The singing and dancing...well, that's an entirely different matter. Heaven knows, I certainly don't have the pipes for opera.

Anyway...I digress. During the performance, I made a personal decision. After the show, I would contact the troop and ask how one becomes involved in a production such as this. Turns out, I didn't have to do that. In fact, I had already been "discovered." The director/producer of the show noticed me during dinner and took note of how well I interacted with the characters. He invited me to sit with him after all the guests left and discuss the technical aspects of dinner theater.

Not only was I immediately cast in the next production without a formalized audition, but I was also cast as the lead. Yeppers. I'm the "Go To". The "It" girl for the March performance. The first show is scheduled for March 11th at the The Highnoon Saloon in downtown Leavenworth, Kansas. Feel free to come and enjoy a meal with a side of murder. Oh yeah...I'm the one getting murdered.

It's all good though. I play two parts: the victim and the investigator. Yeppers, I get to solve my own murder. How cool is that?!

The best part about all of this is that I am now considered a PROFESSIONAL actor. It's true. I'm getting paid.

I am so excited about all of this. Acting in a play has always been one of those things that I've wanted to do. Life is a wonderful thing. The older I get, the more I enjoy it.

The latest and greatest

My husband, the most wonderful man in the world, did tons of research and purchased a treadmill for me. Normally, I would have been offended by the implication, however, in this particular instance, I was pleased. Actually, I encouraged (that's code for "nagged") him to buy one. My pants have become uncomfortably snug (that's code for "Damn! I'm fat!) and I felt compelled to fix the problem (that's code for"get of my rapidly expanding ass and do some exercise").

I had read in some fitness article that if you really want to loose some belly fat, you simply have to walk aggressively for one hour a day. Talk about unrealistic and ridiculous. I walk my pups for about 10 minutes and that's plenty of walking for me. It is also about the most free time I have lately. But....it is either that or spend a small fortune of a wardrobe of larger sizes. So, the lesser of two evils....get to walking.

When I married my husband, the both of us had been living in the adult world for some time and brought to the marriage a household of stuff. The result was two of everything. So, when the treadmill went into the basement, so did a television and a DVD player. With some clever design tricks, I turned an unfinished basement into my personal happy space good for sweating.

I have extra bath mats (provided by my mother who sold her Bed and Breakfast. She had tons of towels, sheets and assorted linens that found their way to my house. I now have enough blankets to keep my family warm even if we were snowed in with no heat for a month.) that I put down all around my treadmill. I hooked up the TV and DVD player and got out the old small refrigerator from my college dorm days. It is stocked with bottled water and lately, I noticed my fabulous husband has adopted it for chilling beer. I have hung baskets on the rafters and draped decorative tapestries over the concrete walls. Because my pups like being with me and I am a sucker for those big brown eyes, I have brought down an ottoman and a dog blanket for them. Now, they can keep me company in comfort.

In the past, I tried doing the stationary bicycle, treadmill, and elliptical at the gym using headphones and listening to a book on tape. I figured I could get my literature fix while exercising. Unfortunately, I found myself making short-term goals like "I'll stop at the end of the tape." Those goals grew shorter and shorter to "I'll stop at the end of the chapter" and finally to "I'll stop at the end of the paragraph."

I didn't want to fall into the same pattern at home. With the DVD player, I had a brilliant idea. My husband, although amazingly wonderful, does not enjoy watching the same kinds of movies that I do. So, I decided that I would rent/borrow DVD's like National Geographic Presents and girl movies like Where the Red Fern Grows. That hour passes quickly and I get to enjoy seeing nature shows and movies that I otherwise wouldn't be able to see. It's a win-win situation. Just so you know, at the end of Where the Red Fern Grows, the story turns very, very sad. I found myself having difficulty maintaining proper breathing while sobbing and snotting myself. I would recommend an alternative viewing experience while exercising.

And They're Off

This past Saturday, I was in the mood to get out of the house. I didn't have any particular destination planned. I just had to go do something. I grabbed the "Things to do in the Kansas City Metropolitan Area" booklet. My husband and I got in the car and headed out on an adventure.

In the back of the booklet, there was a listing for 33 free things to do. Number 33 was The Woodlands. Hmmmmm. As I read the information provided, I discovered that The Woodlands is a race track. They offer horse racing, weiner dog racing (yep. It is advertised as "wiener dog" racing) and dog racing. I called the contact number and was told that there were races that afternoon. Unfortunately, the wiener dog race happens only once a year, on the last Sunday in July. That will have to wait until next year.

Anyway, I'm sure you can guess what happened next. That's right. We ended up at The Woodlands.

Okay, I have never been to a horse race, nor a dog race. And while waiting for my husband to return from the restroom, I chatted with the nice man standing next to me. I could see the dogs run by from where we were standing. It was exciting and naturally, I squealed with delight. The nice man asked me if this was my first time at the dog track.

"Yes. I've never been to a dog race before."

"Where are you from?" he asked with a look on his face that clearly communicated, "What planet did you come from? Everybody has been to the dog track."

I defended my ignorance with some pitiful excuse that there just were any track near my home town and left it at that. We went on to discuss the wiener dog race. He said it is just too funny to watch. Most the dogs don't even finish the race. They get distracted.

When my husband finally found me, we wandered off to the upstairs viewing area. The next race was about to start and of course, I wanted to place a bet.

Being a novice at dog gambling, I walked up to the betting window and inquired, "Okay, how do I do this?"

The girl at the window looked at me like I had a third eye growing from my forehead. She turned to the fellow next to her and shrugged her shoulders. He poked his head around the corner and asked what I was interested in doing.

So, I scooted over to his window and explained that I had never done this before and wanted to know how it worked.

"How much do you want to bet?" he asked.

"Little as possible," I replied. I have zero risk tolerance. Las Vegas makes me nervous. "Isn't the minimum two dollars?" See? I'm not completely stupid.

"Yes. Two dollars on To Show."

"What's that?"

"That's if your dog comes in first, second or third." That means Win, Place, or Show. It took me a few minutes to figure that one out by myself.

"Okay. What dogs are racing?" He pointed to the television monitor and explained all the colors and numbers.

"Well then, I'll bet two dollars To Show on number 4." I handed over my money. "Now, if my dog wins, I'll be back just as tickled as can be."

He was polite enough to smile at me as if he were enjoying my enthusiasm and not like I was a simpleton.

A few minutes later, the dog handlers escorted the dogs to the starting boxes. They put the dogs in and then ran to the end of the track. Then the little mechanical rabbit zipped around the track and as soon as it passed the starting blocks, the dogs were off and running.

They run FAST. The whole thing lasts less than 30 second. But it sure is an EXCITING 30 seconds. I was hollering as was everyone else. My number 4 dog (who I picked because it's little jacket was green and I thought it was pretty) was bumped coming around the first turn and unfortunately, never recovered. Too bad for me....my dog came in last.

Poop.

By this time, my wonderful husband who was doing his best to educate me in the ways of gambling on races, produced the information booklet with all the dogs' statistics. We looked at the runners for the next race. I didn't care what the numbers meant. I just picked the coolest name. I chose the number 6 dog, "Tater Clips." How funny is that?

Back to the betting window. I explained to the fellow that my dog had come in last. He smiled and said he had noticed.

I put my two dollars down on the number 6 dog To Show.

Moments later, they were off. My dog was running like crazy. She was so fast, but not fast enough. She ended up in last place.

Poop.

I was picking the wrong dogs.

My husband did some research on the dogs in the next race and compared the statistics. He eliminated several dogs and ended up with the two that he thought would do well.

Back to the betting window. This time my two dollars went to the number 2 dog in the little blue jacket. This was my last chance as this was the last race for the afternoon.

And they were off and running. As they turned the first corner, the number 4 dog took a tumble and recovered looking dazed and confused. The number two dog was in second place and they rounded the second turn and held its position in the stretch. By the third turn, some other dog was coming up the side. Everybody, my husband and I include, was yelling and cheering. As they rounded the last turn and headed down the home stretch, another dog passed number 2. Then a brown dog zipped up from behind and pulled ahead for a photo finish.

My dog came in fourth.

Poop.

Christmas Dinner

Normally, I opt to make reservations for dinner. When I do decide to cook, my family makes a big production out of it. My husband tells folks that I cook about once a quarter. For the most part he's correct.

With the exception of this past Thanksgiving, I can't even remember the last time I cooked a holiday meal. I am the poster child for the holiday buffet. Having cooked for Thanksgiving, I was justified in my rebellion against cooking Christmas Dinner.

I simply had to locate a holiday buffet. Turns out, folks around here don't "do" holiday buffets. I called just about every restaurant in the greater Leavenworth/Nothern Kansas City area. I also called many hotels as they are usually good for a buffet. Alas, my efforts were in vain. Every place I called was closed. Can you believe that? Closed! What are Jewish folks, Muslims, and Buddists supposed to do? Are they expected to stay home and make a tuna sandwich?

As luck would have it. I was able to locate two eating establishments who were willing to eschew the boycott of holiday foods; Sonic and the Isle of Capri Casino Calypso Buffet. Not much of a selection, but it did mean I didn't have to cook.

Apparently the Patron Saint of Holiday Meals became aware of the not quite conventional dinner plans to celebrate the birth of Jesus and whispered to my sister. She got the hint and called to invite us to her house to enjoy her home-cooked holiday feast. Yeah!

Not only were there lots of yummy mashed potatoes, there were super yummy cheese balls and a delicious apple pie. The four hour drive to Oklahoma (actually, an oversight in directions added two extra hours to the trip, but that's a whole other story) was worth it. I didn't have to cook and because my brother-in-law excels in cleaning up, I didn't even have to do dishes.

A Haunting I Will Go

Yesterday, while shoveling horse poop, the topic of after death came up. The idea of reversal was mentioned. Basically, if you are fat in life, you will be thin in the after life. Size 6 women will end up being size 36. That's my idea of Karma.

I have a few thoughts of my own on the matter.

Okay, in TV shows, movies and documentaries, ghosts are portrayed as "romantic". The forlorn woman wears a long flowing white dress. Her hair blows in the wind and she appears graceful. The ghosts from the mid 1800's wear attire of the era as do ghosts from the Middle Ages. Soldier ghosts are portrayed wearing military garb. Even the Headless Horseman had a long black cloak.
So, what happens if you died naked? Is your ghost doomed to walk this realm in its birthday suit? What happens if you are wearing torn jeans, a mustard stained T-Shirt and a flannel overshirt? Goodness knows it would suck if you were to die barefoot. Can you imagine the pedicure you would need after a 100 plus years of roaming your haunting area?

How about dying while wearing the most uncomfortable pair of shoes of all time? Nothing says agony like walking a mile in shoes that moonlight as bear traps. Perhaps that's why the forlorn woman doesn't go into the light. She's hunting for the jackass who designed those killer shoes.

Ghosts are generally reported to appear as they were when they died. Okay, what if I die and had a BIG FAT zit on the tip of my nose at the time of my departure? Am I forever to be the poster child for Oxy Cleansing Pads and acne medicines? What if I'm having a really bad hair day. A big zit and bad hair...frankly, that just sucks.

As I fully intend on hanging around after I die (mostly for payback to those who have caused me grief; a little poltergeist action sounds like good even-up time to me) I suppose I must prepare for my "Dying Attire". Hmmmm, what to wear, what to wear?

Another publication....unfortunately unpaid

After I returned to the United States from a three year absence, I was struck by all the changes to my "hometown." Althougth I only lived in Golden for a short while, I consider it to be my "hometown" simply because my family lives there. I wrote this article for the local internet news site.


"Return to Golden"

Although I was a short-time resident of Golden, I am still very much a friend and family to many people who consider this delightful city home. Golden will always be a special place because of its quaint, small town feel and the wonderful people who made it possible for me to meet my husband. That not-so-by-chance meeting and matrimonial bliss is what limited my residency in Golden as my military man soon received orders to move to Germany.
Just this past month, we returned to the United States after a three year absence. How things have changed. I never thought it possible to suffer "Culture Shock" simply by returning to my homeland, but I did. While in Germany, I had acclimated myself to hearing undiscernable conversations during daily outings. The spoken word, similar to Charlie Brown's teacher, blended into background noise and was dismissed. I didn't realize the effect of a foreign language until I returned home and picked-up English like pin-point radar zeroing on target. Hearing English spoke around me had been sorely missed and I discovered myself unintentionally eavesdropping into conversations. It is amazing what people talk about when they think nobody is listening. I could tell you things-but that's another story.

During my absence, my adopted home-town of Golden experienced many changes. I would expect that as a local resident, minor changes that occur over time may not seem dramatic, but the development of the city has been just that. Imaging leaving your house for work one morning only to return that evening to discover a decorating/renovating team had painted, landscaped and installed new carpet while you were gone. That's what it was like for me to drive down South Golden Road for the first time in three years.

The roundabout in front of King Sooper's sprouted to life. The 7-11 vanished and Dairy Queen went south of the border. Tequila's guacamole and "gigante" margarita's are a definite improvement over soft-serve ice cream.

Continuing into town, passing the last roundabout, I was delighted to the the statue of the mounted Indian. The vegetation, at the time of my arrival, left something to be desired, but by the end of my initial home-coming, the organic design crew made improvements that exceeded my expectations.

Further into town, I kept my fingers crossed in anticipation of the removal of the unsightly, abandoned convenience store near the bicycle shop and bowling alley. That corner of town has always been like biting into a crisp juicy apple ripened to perfection only to discover half a worm on the inside. Alas, the blemish on what is otherwise an aesthetically pleasing view, remains, much to my dismay. A smile returned when I noticed the evolution of the Muffler Man. No longer a space man, the cowboy fits much better with the theme of Buffalo Bill's final round-up.

Continued exploration of the changes in Golden likened itself to a treasure hunt. Each street corned a new surprise of wondrous gems. Of all the statues adorning main street, the miner and burro is my favorite. The artist really captured the joyous expression of the discovery of a golden nugget on both the miner and his companion. The cowboy on vacation statue near Clear Creek pays homage to the connection with nature and the abundant life in and around the creek. Then there is the bridge. Kudos to whomever decided to design a comfortable resting spot for travelers. I could spend hours sipping a cool beverage and watching the water flow downstream. During Buffalo Bill Days, it was the perfect location to witness hundreds of little yellow rubber duckies float by.

The walking foot trail under the bridge was too much to resist. It beckoned to me. I walked along that trail and delighted in the wondrous creations that weren't there three years ago. The huge fish, in my opinion, second only to the butterflies. As always, the benches aligned the trail are a welcome sight. It makes it easier for a visitor to just sit and smell the roses, well, more accurately, to sit and watch the world go by. I find it refreshing to watch the water and all those who find enjoyment in the creek. The kayaks are always fascinating to watch and happiness can be found in watching a dogs leap into the water having just as much super fun-time as it can stand.

The fire that destroyed part of the Buffalo Rose clearly had a beneficial impact in the downtown area. The beer garden is definitely the silver lining behind the cloud of smoke. Seeing the office/retail spaces filling up in the new buildings across the street from the downtown post office is refreshing. The western town of yester-year is vibrant and alive with modern day amenities and new construction, which blends well with the older buildings. To the casual observer, the growth and development of Golden has been carefully thought out and planned making it an even more desirable place to live. My return to my accepted home town of Golden, Colorado, was cut short by the demands of the United States Army. Now I am only a state away rather than a continent and look forward to my next visit. I can only imagine what tremendous ideas will have come to fruition.

Kelly Hanson
Part time Golden Resident.....

What are YOU making for dinner?

As the traditional day of eating way too much is rapidly approaching, I am beginning to panic. I haven't made a Thanksgiving dinner since 1996. The minor meal in 2004 doesn't really count because a tiny breast and a baked potato is not a "Thanksgiving Dinner." {Scully--I guess the Canadian pilgrims didn't need any extra help from the Indians to survive the winter months. Seeing how Canada doesn't do Thanksgiving, I suppose the Canadian pilgrims were better at hunting beaver than the American pilgrims.) Usually, I stick to the philosophy that I make only one thing for dinner--Reservations. In the past, I either traveled to my sister's home for Thanksgiving or attended the Holiday Buffet at the local hotel and/or cafeteria.

My older sister has been preparing the traditional meal for many, may years: pretty much ever since Mom decided we would have hotdogs. My sister was having none of the Weenie Roast and skipped off to the grocery store for a turkey. The result of mom's decision: my sister cooks.

This year, my sister, her family and my mother are coming to my house for Thanksgiving. I suppose they are all curious about what I'm going to serve. I suspect they are taking bets on what I shall present to them. It's no secret that I make pretty food. I'm best at Frankenstein Cups and Witch's Bubbling Brew, eyeballs and brain jello, vertebrae roll-ups and finger sandwiches. Yep, Halloween type foods, not typical, autumn, family gathering foods.

I suppose I can heat up a can of corn and open a can of cranberry sauce. Even so, my family is bringing food to my house. My brother-in-law is bringing bread and my niece is bringing the pie. I wonder, does apple pie go with burritos? I make a mean burrito. I can also make the Juevos Rancheros. But that doesn't quite say "Thanksgiving", does it?

So, I'll accept my task and broil a turkey, fry up some corn, roast a green bean caserole, and bake up some mashed potatoes. It'll be good.

The Bell Ain't Done Rang Yet.

Is it any wonder why American students perform so poorly on academic tests? Yesterday, while earning my paycheck as a substitute teacher for 8th grade math, I actually heard the above sentence spoken to me. I began taking attendence and one girl graciously informed me that I shouldn't because, THE BELL AIN'T DONE RANG YET. This was a student in the 8th grade. What makes it even more appauling is that English is her first language. Now, I could forgive the poor grammar had she been a foreign student having been exposed to English as maybe her second or third language, but she was a native speaker! How horrible is that?

Later the same day, I actually heard a member of the faculty say, "I growed up with these kids." An educator actually uttered growed and used it in a sentence. It's not even a word! Frankly, if faculty can't speak English, how can the students be expected to speak properly?
GROWED.

I would really like to see a community where folks have a command of the spoken and written word. I'm sorry that our society condones celebrities who can't speak a coherent sentence nor write one. I'm disgusted with the whole eubonics approach to literacy.

I don't be nothing. I ain't no sick mess, aw'right. I don't want to be axing no pacific questions to none of them inbred igits. Aw'ight. My peeps don't be needing to be trippin' like dat. Peace out. Word. Oh, no you din't just go there. I sho nuff did. Don't be gittin' all like dat. Aw'ight.

This isn't an issue of race. It is simply an issue of education. These examples of unacceptable English are spoken by both whites and blacks. I have heard white faculty members slaughter English grammar. I have heard both white and black students speak horribly. Sometimes, the written submissions are not even legible. The chicken scratch that passes for penmanship is pitiful and that doesn't even take into consideration the "hooked on phonics" spelling. Granted, I am not the best speller, but I know that "my techr is nis," is a poor display of middle school academic performance.

These headstones are just on the otherside of my fence line. The Hofstra's aren't side by side, but I suspect they were married in life.

With the weather what it is here, it's not surprising to see that some headstones have fallen. That, and rumor has it there are some vandals who like to knock them over. I'm not too sure if I believe that. I tried to lift one back up and let me tell you.....THEY ARE HEAVY.

That's right. Oscar died July 31, 1898.

This is my backyard.

Oh, the telemarketers

Well, now that we are back in the good ol' USA, we have received several telephone calls from solicitors. Seems that once a person purchases a home, the "THEY" get it. That's when "THEY" start calling. Not only that, but also "THEY" send lots of solicitations in the mail. "THEY" aren't interested in welcoming me to the area/neighborhood. All "THEY" want in my money.

And...that just sucks.

The magazine "THEY" folks just love to call. I've had three calls in as many days. I guess I was so used to not having "THEY" call me. That's one perk of living abroad. Unfortunately, I fell for a deal I just couldn't refuse and "THEY" got me. Yes, I bought some magazines. CRAP. Now, I'm really on the "THEY" list.

Then the charity "THEY" called. "THEY" wanted money for Katrina relief. "THEY" wanted money to support the Amber Alert system. "THEY" wanted money for the State Police.

Then "THEY" ambushed drivers at stop lights. There "THEY" were, waiting for the light to turn red so "THEY" could run up and encourage folks to toss spare change into the bucket. "THEY" were not the firefighters who ask folks to Fill The Boot. I do contribute to that cause, so I don't mind them at all. Okay, within reason. I don't like the firefighters at each traffic signal in town. By the end of a short trip to the grocery store, I don't have and spare change anymore. As a matter of fact, now I don't have money for my groceries.

Anyway......"THEY" have found my blog. Frankly, it really bums me out that "THEY" try to sell me stuff on MY OWN BLOG! I would have thought that this would be one place that "THEY" leave alone.

How much wood?

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? I don't know, but he sure does love to eat my corn.

Yesterday, the pups were going crazy at the window. I assumed they were fretting because of the deer. They come around in the early evening to munch on the goodies I have left them. Well, the pups didn't calm down after several minutes so I took a peek out the window. Hmmmm, it was no deer sitting there nibbling on the cracked corn I set out for the deer. At first, I thought maybe it was a rabbit since we have those, too. It's ears were way too small to be a rabbit. So, I went outside.

It turned and looked at me for a second then darted off for a wood pile. Definitely a woodchuck/ground hog. They are the same thing, aren't they? Anyway, I have seen some big ones munching in other people's yards around town. This one must be a baby guy. He was much smaller than the ones I have seen.

Personally, I think he is just as cute as a button and I'll continue to put out special treats for my backyard wildlife. Okay, except for the mole. Unfortunately, there were new tracks in the yard this morning, so I think the trap is not working. We set it again. Tomorrow is another day for trapping/spearing moles.

A few days ago, my neighbor commented that we have the assorted wildlife; deer, raccoon, birds, chipmunks, moles, rabbits, squirrels and then she mentioned the worst creature of all----OPOSSUM. I really, really, really don't like the possum. It's a long story. Okay, it goes like this...

When I was a child of 11 years of age, my family lived in Panama. As I was adventuresome and was not usually frightened by insects or other unusual creatures, I found that it was a fascinating place to live. Some animal of some sort or another crept into our lives and sometimes into our house nearly everyday. I remember one afternoon when my mother asked me to take the garbage outside. This was a typical request and I did as I was instructed. I tied up the ends of the Hefty bag and took it outside to the big metal tragicomic. I set the big green plastic trash bag on the ground next to the trash bins so I could use both hands to open the lid of one of the cans. As I did so, a hideous beast feasting inside the can protested my intrusion. It spun around and stared at me. Its glistening black eyes were wide open and it hissed at me showing its shiny white teeth. Its rat-tail curled around its black body. I screamed! I slammed the metal lid back down on the can and ran inside the house. I was still screaming. My mother rushed into the kitchen asking me what was wrong. I told her there was an animal in the trash. She laughed. I guess she thought I must have been hurt or something. Afterall, I was screaming as if my arm had been severed from my body. Clearly, my mother thought I had overreacted to a simple animal, probably a mouse, inside the trash can.

Imagine her surprise when she went to investigate my outlandish claim. I knew what was in the trash can and wanted nothing to do with it. I stayed in the doorway to the kitchen watching. When she lifted up the grey metal lid, that creature inside hissed at her. I could hear it from where I was.

My mother closed the lid, now a believer. She simply stated that it was a possum and that it was probably much more afraid of me than I was of it. Well, that meant it was scared out of its mind because I was terrified.

And you know what? That wasn't my ONLY run in with a possum. To this day, I get the heeby geebies whenever I think about those nasty creatures. So, heaven help the possum who decides to get a snack in MY yard. Oh no no. That would not be a good thing. No way. No how.

I put the bird feeders on the other side of the fence. That way when the spilled seeds sprout, it won't mess up my flower bed. The can grow all they want in the wooded area outside my fence. We left that area alone for the most part.

In the dirt patch behind me, I have planted lots of tulips. They will be so pretty in the spring, provided that the mole doesn't eat the roots and the deer don't eat the stems.

My amazing husband and our patio/deck.

Check out this mess that I get to clean up. She had a good time and that's for sure.

Look Mom! Look what I did. This is so EXCITING!

Sydney just discovered where the mole might live.

Another shot of the hole.

This in the hole.

Directly at the bottom center of this picture, you might see a speck of orange just to the right of the base of the tree. That is a salt lick. Yep. I put it there.

The deer get even closer than this.

Yes, I have deer in my back yard. I also have headstones.

You might think Annabelle is looking at my fish, but my fish are all hiding. They know they are "feeder" fish.

terrier \ literally earth dog,

Terrier \ literally earth dog. From Latin terra. Small dogs originally used by hunters to dig for small furred game and engage the quarry underground or drive it out.

I have three of them. Jake, my Westie, prefers letting the others get dirty. He's more of a lover than a fighter. Annabelle, my Scottie, is more inclined to KILL her squeaky toys. However, Sydney, my Schnauzer (originally bred to hunt and kill rats), is a true terrier. She is a digger.

When we first moved into our house, we noticed long skinny bulges in our yard. Absently, I assumed they were surface roots from the many trees. Even when we began our extensive landscaping, we would pull up long surface roots and continue. Then I began to notice these long skinny bulges in circles and no where near trees. And...I might add, all the grass along those long skinny bulges was dead. I suspected a mole.

Turns out, I was correct. I stamped down those bulgy trails and cursed the rodents. I encouraged them to move out of my yard into my neighbors yard. Of course, my neighbor adamantly protested. My other neighbor allowed my to borrow the Killer Mole Trap. Basically it works similar to a mouse trap, but instead of a snapping wire, it has six vicious looking spikes. The trap is set along the mole trail and when the mole digs under it, SNAP, the spikes sink into the ground and impale the little beasties.

A few days with nothing, then yesterday I noticed the spikes were down. Part of my was happy and part of my was sad. I didn't want to kill it, but I didn't want it tearing up my yard. I really didn't want to poison it for fear that my pups would be poisoned or eat one that had been poisoned. Anyway, I decided to check to see if I indeed had a dead mole.

When I pulled up the trap, a big chunk of dirt/clay came up revealing the hole. No mole, but definitely mole smell. Suddenly, I had a helper. Sydney was....let's say...very curious. Okay, she was really SUPER EXCITED!! Into the hole she went. There was no stopping her. Naturally, since I spoil her rotten I just encouraged the assault. In a high squeaky voice I told her to "Get it!" and to "Kill it!"

Lots and lots of digging. Eventually, her head disappeared. Her bum was up in the air and a little tiny tail was wiggling like it had been turn onto vibrate. She was having the big time Super Fun Time. All her effort was to no avail. No mole.

When it was all said and done, I had a worn out, filthy dog and a big hole in my yard. So much for a long skinny bulge. It's more like a giant pot hole.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it.....

Having accepted the mission, I set out on my quest.

Store closed. Sorry! Come again!

Later...store open. Sign in window proclaims "All fish 10% off!" Excellent. That is until I noticed the fine print, "except feeder fish."

"I need some feeder fish."
"How many would you like?"
"Hmmm, I think 5 would be plenty."
"We only sell by the dozen."
"Well then, I'll take 12."

Two hours later....all the fish are dead.

I anticipated them being eaten by the local wildlife, but they didn't last that long. The first clue was seeing them suck air at the surface of the water. The next clue was me being able to scoop them up by hand with no resistance.

In order to make sure I collected all the bodies, I counted the dead. One by one. Guess what. Even the bonus fish, #13, died. Unlucky for him.

Two days and two aquarium prep anti-chlorine tablets, I set off to accomplish my mission.

In go the next batch of feeder fish. Good thing they are only 15 cents each. No way am I spending $5.oo on a fish that will ultimately be eaten or flushed.

An hour later.....I still have living fish.

Another hour later.....still swimming.

The next day.....still swimming.

The next morning.....hmmmm for some reason, there are lots more rocks in my pond than there were the night before. Also, no fish. I picked out the rocks that had been resting on the edge of the pond and discover fish. They are still alive!! Rejoice!

My pond has goldfish. Mission accomplished.

The deck is still missing lattice, railing and steps. That's tomorrow's project. Lucky for me, that's not my job. I get to work inside tomorrow.

A few more plants and presto, the pond is finished. Of course, I still have plenty of boxes in my basement waiting for me to unpack, but my pond is finished. Notice the big fat frog. Once the section of fence to the left is replaced, I can finish up with the mulch and really begin to enjoy all the hard work.

Clear out the trash and things are really looking good.

A stroll down the walkway, past the pond, and finally to a shady spot to relax.

Phew! Break time.

Lots done, but more to go.

My husband and father-in-law putting together the giant puzzle.

Still digging the trench.

My wonderful pond begins to take shape. If you use your imagination, you might be able to picture the finished product.

Maybe some more sand would help.

And the flagstone begins.

The trench.

Here I am digging a trench for the electical wiring for the pond. Don't I look "purty"?

Believe it or not, we are still speaking to each other at this point.

Work in progress.

Big changes ahead for this space.

More of the "before". Just wait for the "after".

Although we trimmed out all the underbrush, there is still plenty more work ahead.

We had to dig out three to five inches of dirt and move it someplace else. My husband, the most patient man in the world, was thankful that we had a nice tree line where we could dumb the 50+ wheel barrel loads full.

This is where the pond will go.