madranchwife

I love that, no matter how many years are passing by at an alarming rate of speed, some things stay the same.

Gracelyn has done this since we moved in down here and strung up the clothesline.  I used to get, well, irritated and tell her to stop.  But then her giggle was so infectious I couldn’t stop laughing.  So I stopped being irritated and just let her run.  I figured if the clothesline broke and the sheets fell down and got dirty, I’d just rewash them.

This was yesterday morning.

Precious moments.

(For those of you interested, you can now follow my acerbic wit on Twitter @dlbvet and adorable pics on Instagram at dlbvet as well.  Yes, I succumbed to social media, though I continue to draw the line at Facebook.)

I didn’t know this was a thing.

But apparently, it is.  A thing.

Leap seconds.

As in a leap year, but just a measly little second.

It doesn’t happen very often, and has all sorts of things to do with the earth spinning and whatnot, and basically has the capability of really messing things up.

As in the last time it happened, Amazon had issues.  Issues man.  Amazon had issues.  Because of one itsy, bitsy, teensy, weensy little second.

At first, when I saw the article on the webpage, I sort of breezed right past it.  Then I scrolled back to take a second look.  Then I thought mayhaps I should click on said article and figure out if this was something to be concerned about or not.

I’ll spare you all the science-y 411 and get right to the meat of the matter.  We’re adding a second to the clock today.  And so things could, might, get titchy for a bit.  As in, Amazon might have some more “issues.”  Or your computer might get irritable.  Or the Smartphones might rise up in revolt.

Who knows?  Zombie apocalypse virus stuff?

Or then again, maybe nothing will happen.  And we’ll all just go along about our business, oblivious to the extra second added to our day.

Me?  I’m spending a lot of seconds trying to figure out how I’m going to spend my extra second.

Now…back to regularly scheduled broadcasting.

It started like any other night.  I went to bed.  After which I was rudely awakened by the dear husband running out of the bedroom after shaking me awake.  He seemed to have mumbled something, but I was having a difficult time figuring out what.  Now, in his defense,  I had asked him to make sure I was awake at 6:30 am the next morning in order to not be late for soccer camp.  However, I couldn’t figure out why, if it was 6:30 am, there was no sunshine streaming through the bedroom windows.  And my next thought was along the lines of “what the heck is he wearing his boots for?  He knows I’ll skin him alive for wearing those boots in the house.”  And finally this:  “why is he carrying the shotgun?”

See how my mind works?  Most importantly, I was wondering why he would dare to wear his boots in the house, let alone the bedroom.  Forget the fact that he was brandishing a shotgun.  Trivial.

Until I put two and two together.  I must tell you I am simply brilliant at 12:20 a.m.  The fog finally lifted and I realized that he hadn’t been gently shaking me awake out of concern I’d be late for soccer camp.  He had mumbled “BEAR!” and was wearing his boots because he was on a mission.  Oh yes, and carrying a shotgun.

I fumbled out of the covers and bleary-eyed followed him to the front porch where we watched a cute, little (not-so-much) black bear sniff around the birdhouse out on the fence.

I’ve never heard my husband growl.  But I swear he was growling at that bear.

And if he hadn’t been carrying that shotgun, I might have started laughing.  So in all seriousness, I then said “wait!  I want a picture.”  Dang if he didn’t turn and start growling at me!  “You have GOT to be kidding,” he said.  I ran back inside and returned with the camera just as the dear husband was alternately growling, shouting at the bear and firing the rubber-shot filled shells.

I tried to get digital proof, but it was dark (12:30 am) and the bear was dark and he finally go spooked and went bounding down the driveway.  The dear husband was NOT happy.  With the bear, with the shotgun (as the shells weren’t loading properly) and certainly not with me.  Though to be sure, I don’t understand why he couldn’t have waited to fire until I’d gotten some good pictures.

I finally decided I’d had enough excitement and went back to bed, leaving the dear husband standing on the porch, ready to shoot again.

The next morning revealed what he had feared:  the bear had returned and made short work of our bird feeders and fences.

 (Looking for ants?)

This last picture shows claw marks on the tree.

To top it all of, the damn bear absconded with two new feeders.  Simply gone, without a trace.

So now the birds are peeved as I’ve taken what’s left of the feeders and brought them inside.  And the chipmunks can’t figure out what happened to the free lunch deal.

Me?  I’ll not soon forget hearing the dear husband growl.  Remind me never to make him angry.  (He said the next day that he was mad because the bear had growled at him!  The audacious little bastard.  The bear, not the husband.)

So that’s the bear story for this year. Hopefully this will be it and he’ll go along his merry way when he realizes I’ll not be leaving any feeders out for him to run away with.

And you thought I was going to write about the GOP.  As in the mayhem and destruction their antics regarding the Affordable Care Act may cause.  Silly you.  Why would I write about the Republican ridiculousness?

Much more fun to record the growling contest!

Our new “diet”/lifestyle has brought many positive changes to our family.  The good far outweighs the bad.  Things such as less brain fog, less actual body weight (that would be for the adults in the family), less blinding headaches (me), more energy, better skin (all members)…the list goes on and on.

I haven’t blabbed too much about what we’re doing, because I think lifestyle choices are just those–lifestyle choices made by each and every one of us.  And should be free from criticism by others or ridicule or whatnot.  That being said, I’ve not said a lot about what we’re doing.  We feel better so that’s all that matters.

All of that being said (written), I must make this official and say goodbye once and for all to a very dear friend.  One who has gotten me through some tough times.  Late nights at Sweet Eugene’s in College Station trying to get through Veterinary Anatomy and Physiology (why was that so difficult???).  Really late nights at the Small Animal Clinic at Texas A & M University College of Veterinary Medicine–wow, so scary.  More late nights sitting with colicking horses in the back of my (our) small veterinary clinic in Saratoga.  Or a very sick yellow labrador (RIP Petie).  A very, very dear friend who changed colors a bit when my dearest daughter made an appearance in my life.  And who stuck by me through thick, thicker and thickest parts of my life (expanding waistline mind you).  A so very dear friend who then hung on through the fog of early parenthood, morphing with various necessary diet changes as my dear daughter dealt with mommy’s intake.

This dear friend was my rock.  My go-to.  My calm in the storm of life.  (Ooh, that’s good writing.)  My transformative breath.  My happy thought.  My security blanket.  My comfort, my joy, my life.

I have been without this dear, dear friend since October 17th, 2014.  We had a brief reunion sometime in November that, sadly, oh so sadly, ended disastrously for me.  And since then, I have been bereft, set adrift on an ocean of loneliness every morning.  Searching, ever searching, for a new best friend to help me face the challenges of life.  A new dear friend to do for me what my old dear friend did.  One who can be there for me when the going gets tough.  (Enough cliches.)

So, without further angst, I must end my grieving period, accept the things I cannot change, move on and forward, letting go of the past, tucking away the sweet memories into  a safe place to savor again someday–only in my mind sadly–not railing against the injustices of this world that I can no longer be friends with my dear, old friend, but instead, being grateful for the memories, being grateful for today.

Goodbye my love.  I shall never again drink you for comfort, for happiness, for joy, for warmth, for peace of mind, for inner strength, for calm.

I raise a cup of dull, bland, dark coffee with a bit of cream to my dear, dear friend.  Rest in peace 1/2 caffe dark chocolate mocha with whip.  You served me well.  I shall never forget you.

Shalom.  Slainte.  Vaya con dios mi amigo.

Don’t you just hate when you read something with all of those little apostrophe marks in all the wrong places?  Well, they’re in the correct places as far as their function, but trying to figure out how to read it, and then what words are being shortened, and then what the author is attempting to do with shortening all of the words that aren’t typically shortened.  Whew.  It’s enough to give you a headache.   (That and trying to decipher a run-on sentence.)  🙂

And, actually, I didn’t “hear” anything on the internet this morning.  I read several blurbs that I simply could not ignore.

So, without further ado, here’s what had my little feathers a-rufflin’ again (ha! slipped another one in).

1.  Scott Walker is saying he has foreign policy cred cause he has visited six (6) countries.  If A=B and B=C, then A=C.  (I just love me some mathematical properties to help define the world.)  So, using this Transitive Property of Equality, that should mean that I, little old me, am a Foreign Policy Expert as well.  Because, you see, I have visited five (5) other countries.  And five is almost six, so in my book, they’re the same.  Gee.  I had no idea.  Me, a Foreign Policy Expert.  Great way to start my day.  Thanks Governor Walker.  A little gold star to you for making me feel so accomplished.

“As a governor, I’ve been, just recently in Germany, in Spain and France,” Walker explained. “Earlier in the year, it was the United Kingdom on trade related missions. A few years back in China and Japan. So, that’s probably the most of any governor of either party has is that experience in terms of trade relations.”  From an article found here:  http://crooksandliars.com/2015/05/scott-walker-im-most-qualified-foreign

Well now.  Isn’t that special?  Do I even need to write another word about this?

Moving on.

2.  No references here because there are so many I wouldn’t know where to start.  But maybe you saw this past week the incredible gymnastics moves of some of the umpteen Republican nominees for the nomination.  First, the Perfect 10 goes to good ol’ Jebbie.  In no less than four (4) days he switched it up and completed full backflips with a frontal thrown in for good measure on the subject of the Iraq War.  It was mind-blowing watching him contort himself into all of those positions.  And to be honest, I’m still not exactly clear on where he comes down on the subject.  I do know that he’s stickin’ (Ha! did it again.) to his story on the meme of “the world is a better place without Saddam Hussein.”  Mmmm-hmmm.

Let me digress on that for a moment.  I would ask this.  Is it?  Is the world really a better place now, without the big, bad, boogey-man Saddam Hussein?  Cause I’m not so sure about that.  Seems to me the world just might have gotten a tad bit scarier, what with ISIL (or IS or ISIS or what-the-heck-ever we’re supposed to be calling them these days) hanging out and wreaking havoc.  Seems to me the people of Iraq aren’t in a better place today.  Us going over there and tearing up their homeland didn’t really help them out a bit, did it?  And Syria?  Not so good there.  Do I need to go on?  In my VERY, humble opinion, from the safety of my home, in the safety of the free country I live in with all of the perks and bennies of the First World, I don’t think the world is a safer place now that Saddam Hussein is gone.  So trying to defend George W’s ASININE decision (and in so doing, deify the W)to invade Iraq back in the day is just that–ASININE.

Ok, I digressed.  I’m going to take a breath now.  On to my list.

3.  Chatter about the Mittster.  Lord love a duck.  Lots of chatter about how he’s going to swoop in on his Spidey rope probably wearing a Batman cape with a big S on his chest sometime after the umpteen thousand Republican primary debates (thus having to avoid stupidity on the stage) and save the day.  Seriously.  Lots. Of. Chatter.  I don’t even know what to say about this.  Except maybe:  lord love a duck.  Which I already wrote, but seriously.  I mean really.  Mitt Romney?  Really?

4.  Guns, guns and more guns.  And some motorcycles thrown in for good measure.  Down there Texas way.  So methinks instead of being worried about being taken over by the good ol’ United States of ‘Murica due to a plethora of tunnels under WalMart (that still makes my sides hurt) and the big, bad meanie President O (who hates Texas doncha know?), then  mayhaps the residents of Texas should be concerned about the guns already there.  I’m just saying.

(And I would like to point out, just for the record, my computer HATES it when I try to write all “folksy” and such.  HATES it.  Can’t stand it when I write words like “doncha” and leaves big red splotches all over the screen after trying to first auto-correct my atrocious spelling.  I’m just saying.)

Moving on, once again.

5.  (And I should have started with this one as it is TOO good.  Simply too good.  Should be front and center.  Maybe I should have just written a post with it alone.  Hmmm.  Maybe.)

Bernie Sanders is on fire.  That man is on fire.  And despite that I think he has slightly better than a snowball’s chance in Southtown of winning the Democratic nomination, let alone the Presidency, I do love this guy.  He is what this country needs, if we are going to survive.

Money quote from the esteemed Mr. Sanders:

(H/T to http://www.theimmoralminority.blogspot.com for this tidbit)

“Maybe it’s time to get our priorities right.”

Maybe.

I’m just sayin’.

Blessings be..

Seriously.  Really.  I am, oddly I know, rendered slightly speechless.  Did you know this?  I guess the President of the United States is about to declare Martial Law in Texas.  Yep.  You read that correctly.  Martial Law in Texas.  He’s finally gonna do it folks.  Grab yer guns and yer bibles and yer chillun and run fer the hills.  The black President’s a-comin’.  Wait, make that the black, Muslim President who wants to enforce sharia law as well, is a-comin’ to take away yer guns and yer liberty.

I guess the plan is falling under something called the “Jade Helm 15” or some ridiculous, ASININE asininity that the chicken littles have come up with.  This plan is supposed to have something to do with descending upon the righteous state of Texas, rounding up all the God-fearing ‘real Amuricans’ and driving them into underground tunnels (under Walmarts, no less) where they will then be subjected to giving up their guns and who knows what else.  Held against their will I ‘spect.  Obviously.

Not only is this lunacy being allowed to be propagated on the airways, but the Governor of the state (a Mr. Greg Abbott) and, AND, the esteemed junior Senator-cum-Republican-candidate-for-the-highest-office-in-the-land Ted Cruz have jumped into the ridiculous asininity and “lent their support” to the people of the great state.  The governor has called up the Texas state Guard to be on alert.  (I know, right?)  The junior Senator has uttered asinine asininities such as that he gets where the conspiracy theorists are coming from because the federal government has done so much to take away our rights and freedoms.  I cannot even give this lunatic another piece of my precious time so I’m not going to find his direct quotes.  NOT worth it.

The Jade Helm 15 has something to do with military exercises being, well, exercised in areas of the world.  Could happen in the grand ol’ state of Texas.  Could happen in the distant waters of the Pacific Ocean.  Or some other such lonely place.  For a little more detail, I highly, highly suggest you wander on over to my all-time favorite site for a sane description of the lunacy that regularly assaults our country.  Jim at http://www.stonekettlestation.com.  Priceless.

In the meantime, I’m going to sit back and watch, in complete disbelief, the histrionics of the elected officials in that big ol’ state down yonder.  What is it down there? Do you think there’s something in the water?

Holy moses, lord love a duck, for pete’s sake, HOLD THE PRESSES!  I just heard, then saw, a hummingbird.  !!!!!!!!!!!

Got to run folks.  Must go fill the feeders.  That little guy is probably hungry.  I’m sure he had a long journey and we’ve got no flowers here yet.

Let the games begin!

What a beautiful morning.  I simply love sitting on the front porch listening to my gorgeous wind chimes.  I’ve had one of them since my days in Pacifica.  It’s tones take me back to that little backyard patio, the fog, the seashells, my Golden Retrievers Calvin and Sundance, the tang of the sea air.  The chimes have seen better days.  I’ve had them restrung several times, the last by a guitar maker/airplane builder in Saratoga.  He strung them with airplane wire, said he thought that’d last the best.  So far so good.  They make me happy.  They make me smile.

The dear daughter is in the yard in her pajamas and new BOGS (had to invest in the new boots, even though its spring, hopefully they’ll make it through the fall) playing with Caroline.  (She’s the doll by the way).  There go the boots.  At least the coat is still on.  It’s rather chilly with the breeze.  Well actually, it’s a step or two up from a breeze.  But what’s a few knots as far as wind goes, right?

The woodpeckers are busy up in the trees.  One keeps trying the utility lightpole post, not sure why. Part of me wishes he’d come to the house and start on the ants.

I just watched our resident gray squirrel climb a VERY tall aspen tree (which is a difficult thing to do for squirrels, the trunks are rather smooth) and perch out on a dead branch, higher than the utility light pole.  He just sat there, surveying the world.  The damn gophers are busy out yonder.  One was right outside the fence of the front yard until the girls started messing around out there.  Bastard.  What I wouldn’t give for that badger to return.  He cleaned them out a couple of years ago.  Right now a couple of them are playing chase out there.  Kind of funny to watch until I remember how much they annoy me.

The chipmunks are multiplying in front of my eyes it seems, though to be honest I haven’t seen the babies yet.  They are cute I will admit.  There are just so damn many of them.

The chickadees have headed up the mountain to wherever they go for the spring and summer.  I miss them.  They’re the ones who eat from our hands.  The pine siskins haven’t shown up yet, though we’ve got a few red-headed finches.  Our stellar jays are even gone.  They got chased away by a gang of crows in the last few weeks.

And so the world turns here in our small little piece of heaven.  So far removed from the ugliness and despair and hopelessness that is pervasive in some people’s lives.  I am so blessed.  My heart hurts for those less fortunate than me and mine.  My heart hurts for the mothers who have had to bury their sons, lost to senseless acts of violence.  Committed by the ones who are supposed “to protect and to serve.”

Again, as I wrote earlier, I don’t support violence.  But if I get quiet long enough and I let myself wander into the territory that I think they must inhabit, then I can maybe get an inkling of what their life might be like.  The despair, the hopelessness, the hunger, the fear, the loss of faith that it could be better.  And why would that not drive someone to rage and anger?   They have nothing left.  And nothing will change until we start to understand that.    And more mothers will bury more sons.

Don’t talk to me about “pulling themselves up by their bootstraps.”  Don’t give me that crap about they just need to get a job.  And don’t get all sanctimonious and self-righteous and ask “how can they do this to their community??”  And don’t speak to me of “thugs.”  (Here’s looking at you FAUX News.)  Bullshit.  All of it.  The man who asked a pathetic CNN reporter had it right: “So you’re telling me that broken windows are worse than broken spines?”

I could go on.  I won’t.  I need to step away.  The only thing I can do is change my piece of the world.  Something to work on.  I will teach my daughter that just because someone looks differently than us, or speaks differently than us doesn’t mean they are not worthy.

One more thing.  Just another little question I have.  This whole brou-ha-ha about a book about the Clintons and their money?  WTF? The flipping Koch brothers can proclaim they’re going to spend $1 BILLION of their cool cash and noone raises an eyebrow???  Bill and Hillary Clinton make millions from speaking engagements and such and that’s news?  People donate to their foundation (which I really thought was just Bill’s, but who’s getting technical, right?) and that’s not ok?  It’s a foundation.  The flipping man from India didn’t give it to Bill or Hillary.  He gave it to the foundation.  A foundation that then takes the money and spends it on whatever issues it works on, globally.  Give me a flipping break.  And some of the other claims in this ridiculous book?  That Hillary Clinton, as Secretary of State, could veto some piece of legislation that would have affected some Russian deal?  Are you flipping kidding me?  Since when on Allah’s green earth can the Secretary of State veto legislation????  Did the author not take American Government as a high school student?  Oy vey.  The stupid.  It’s giving me a headache.

Be careful what you read out there folks.  It’s getting downright crazy.

The coffee’s cold (too breezy out here).  The Mac is taking a beating as I’m hitting the keys in frustration, so I perhaps should stop before I break something.

Back to wind chimes and squirrels and red-headed finches and pairs of mating ducks circling overhead.  Ahhhhhhh.  That’s better.

Vaya con dios.

All day today I’ve listened to it.  All last night I listened to it.  Just got done tonight reading about it.  And I can seriously barely contain my irritation and frustration.  So I’m pounding on the keyboard right now (sorry little Mac) and hoping to get some thoughts out so I can get some peace.

And honestly, all I can think is, seriously, what in the hell did they think was going to happen?    A young, BLACK man in police custody (meaning handcuffed and OBVIOUSLY unarmed) has his spinal cord nearly severed and then dies after a week in a coma.  In police custody.

Why the hell would anyone think there WOULDN’T be riots in Baltimore?

I most certainly am not condoning the violence in any way, shape or form.  Violence is not an answer.  Ever.

But a young man dying because his spinal cord is nearly severed, while in police custody, is absolutely, without-a-doubt wrong.  On so many levels.

And honestly, what’s another peaceful protest going to do anyway?  I mean let’s get down to it, shall we?  How is a little peaceful protest going to change anything?  Have police departments listened thus far?  Did the peaceful protests after Michael Brown lead to any change?  Or actually, we need to go further back, don’t we?  Did the peaceful protests about Trayvon Martin’s death cause any changes?  Nope.  Good ol’ George Zimmerman got to live another day, didn’t he?  Still out there on the streets, wielding his guns.  Did Michael Brown’s killer face any charges?  Nope.  How about Eric Gardner in New York?  Walter Scott in South Carolina?  And now Freddie Gray in Baltimore.  I know I missed some of the black men who have been killed by police in the last few months.  I’m irritated and frustrated and my brain is a big old mish-mosh right now.

Again, I’m not advocating violence.

But I sure think I understand it.  And if anything is going to change, then a whole bunch of people better start trying to understand it also.  We are fast approaching the boiling point and who knows what’s going to explode next.  Critical mass.  The pent-up frustrations and fears of people all across this country are going to gel into something that could be disastrous for our ideals of a free democracy.

I am sorry Baltimore is being devastated.  I am sorry innocent peoples’ livelihoods and personal property is being destroyed.  But if someone, somewhere doesn’t start trying to understand where this violence is coming from, we’re going to see a lot more of it.

I’ve heard so many takes on it.  I’ve heard so many people blaming and pointing fingers and calling others names and critiquing decisions made.  And I’m so sick of it I almost ripped the stereo out of the dashboard and threw it out of the window on the way home tonight.

Sure, we can start dredging up Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and belittling those today who aren’t living up to King’s ideals and ways of doing things.  But this isn’t 1965, it’s 2015.  And I would venture to say, even though I wasn’t alive then and so obviously have no clue about what it was like, I would venture to say that we haven’t made it very far, have we?  Sure, we got ourselves a “blackish” President (his words the other night, not mine).  We also just got ourselves a twofer–a black female US Attorney General.   But what’s better now in the race relations department?  How is life better for the average young black male?  I don’t live it.  I’m not a young, black male.  In fact, I’m a pretty privileged, old, white female.  (I know, really?)  So my life experiences are so far removed from what a young black male lives today that I shouldn’t even be attempting to write a single, damn word about this.  As if I know how they feel.  As if I know what they face each and every single, damn day.  As if.

Once more, for the record, I don’t think violence is the answer.  But if I try to think about putting myself in a young, black male’s shoes, I sure as hell think I can imagine the frustration, the fear, the rage.

Come on America.  We need to start thinking about getting our collective shit together. (Pardon my crudity.)  A person should not die of a nearly severed spinal cord while handcuffed and at the mercy of policemen.  That is grotesque and frightening and downright disgusting.  And honestly, we will probably never know as those police officers will likely NEVER tell the truth.

I can tell you that if I was a young, black male I would be pretty scared to walk down the street for fear I’d look at someone the wrong way and end up dead, killed by a policeman.  And if I had more skin in the game, I just might find myself heading to the latest site of the latest injustice to take part in protesting this sorry state.

If Dr. King hadn’t journeyed all across the south, to be with those who were suffering injustices and then speaking out and standing up to them, it is likely the movement may not have advanced as it did.  Just because someone doesn’t live in Baltimore doesn’t mean they can’t go to Baltimore to lend their voice and their presence.  Just because someone doesn’t live in Baltimore doesn’t mean they aren’t affected.  Should they travel to Baltimore and commit heinous acts of violence?  No.  And that’s not what I’m saying.  Should anyone be allowed to show up and suit up, so to speak?  Yes.  Their fight is our fight.  Doesn’t matter where it’s happening–South Carolina, Missouri, Maryland–the problem is it’s happening.  And is continuing to do so.

What if Dr. King had stayed home and said “not my problem, not my fight, I’m not a garbage collector, I’m not a bus rider in Montgomery?”

So to all those people who are upset that “foreigners” are coming to Baltimore and getting involved, I would think you’d want the help.  (Obviously, yet once again let me say this, not to commit violent acts.)

I’m losing steam, so I guess that’s a good sign that the pressure relief valve has worked for the moment.  I’m sure I’ll read an asinine comment here or there and will find myself all worked up again.  For now, I’m not going to read anything else tonight.  I’m going to attempt to commune with the Universe and send thoughts of peace and calm to Maryland…and South Carolina…and New York…and Missouri..and to all the parents and family members of the young men who have been so brutally killed in senseless acts of violence.

Sorry, no photos this morning.  I guess I could insert some file photos.  Suffice it to say we’re clawing our way back to springtime.

What in the sam hello am I writing about?  It snowed here!!!  A LOT.

Bless the Goddess.  And thank the Universe.  And praise allah (allah akbar, though I’ve seen several different spellings, so I’m not sure if that is correct).

Regardless, it snowed.  A LOT.  Right, I already said that.  Well, just in case you didn’t get it, I mean, A LOT.

So everything that was brown, and sort of turning green, is all white again.  And wet, very wet.  This was a heavy, moisture-laden snow that will save our bacon in a couple of months hopefully.  The ground had started to thaw so a lot of this moisture will sink in and be put to good use.  Close to a couple of feet I’d say (though I’m horrid with estimations and I spent my weekend trying to get to work in Cheyenne and not measuring the snowfall levels, so I can’t give you an accurate number).  Whatever.  It was A LOT of the white stuff. Thank the lord.  I was already beginning to amass the evacuation pieces and parts and to revise the list and update the plan.  Now I can take a breath and maybe, just maybe, our fire danger will not be as high this season.  And maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to worry about the well going dry.

For the first time in 4 1/2 years, I was not able to make it to work on Saturday.  When I checked at 4:15 a.m. the interstate was open.  When I left at 5 a.m. it was open.  It took me an hour and 40 minutes to make it to Laramie (usually takes an hour, unless the gods are smiling on me and the troopers are sleeping and then I can do it in 50 minutes, maybe a teensy bit less).  And then the interstate was closed.  Right in front of me.  With so much snow falling in Laramie that at times I couldn’t tell what was the sky and what was the ground and so on and so forth.  Driving across the Laramie plains, at one point, I looked to the right and gasped as I saw three horses that seemed to be floating in the air.  On closer inspection (I had the time to closely inspect as I was driving VERY slowly as the road hadn’t been plowed and I was the only one out there at the ungodly hour before dawn)–as I was saying, upon closer inspection, the horses were standing in the snow, but against the backdrop of whiteness everywhere.  Couldn’t see the ground, couldn’t see the sky, couldn’t see the trees and river in the distance.  Could barely see the tops of the fence posts.  Crazy.

Anyway.  I sat there in the Starbucks, which is ironic because normally, for me, two uninterrupted, glorious hours alone in a Starbucks is NIRVANA, and this time, just stressed out.  Should I stay or should I go??  (Name that song.)  I was sure that if I turned around and headed home, across the stretch of highway that was listed on the website as “no unnecessary travel” and was, in all truth, one of the top five worst roads I’ve driven in the last several years here as it pertains to weather.  Should have paid attention to the whole “no unnecessary travel” thingy.  They meant it.  Anyway, as I was saying in that run-on sentence that didn’t get finished, if I turned and went home, sure as not the interstate would open.  If I stayed, I could be there for hours and hours.  How stupid would that be?  I couldn’t win either way.

Noting, of course, the interstate had just opened the night before at 10 p.m. after being closed for nearly 36 hours for a monster pile-up.  It stayed open for eight hours and was now closed.  Starbucks is nirvana, but not for 36 hours.

So I headed home, across the road I’d just traveled, and shouldn’t have been on to tell you the truth.

Then fretted once I got home that I made the wrong decision.  Though, as I found out later, the interstate stayed close until later that afternoon.

I tried again on Sunday morning.  Everything open, though not a pleasant drive.

Springtime in the Rockies.

But it’s all good.  It’s all good.  I made it home safe and sound.  And now we have LOTS of moisture.

Would have been nice in, say, January and February, but we’ll take what we can get.  Not going to be ungrateful now!

Blessings.

“He made an error.  How many errors are made in an operating room every week?” queried Sheriff Stanley Glantz.

Can you guess what that error was and to whom the Sheriff is referring to?

One guess:  it has something to do with a bad guy (black), a good  guy (white), and then a dead bad guy (still black).

In Oklahoma.

So if you didn’t hear about it, and I just cannot go into details as I am having less and less tolerance for these sorts of stories, the coffee is almost gone, and the school bell is about to ring, read on for my synopsis (snarky, slanted and biased as it may be, but this is my damn blog, so there you go).

Suffice it to say, there was a criminal (black–I know, right?) who was apprehended, but who then ran (sealed his fate right there, because as we learned last week, if you run, you die) and who was then MISTAKENLY shot with a gun, not a Taser, as the Reserve Deputy Sheriff stated.  “OOPS.”  (Actually, that’s not a direct quote, that’s my literary license again.  I have no idea if he uttered “oops” or not.  Probably should have.  Along with a HUMONGOUS, GINORMOUS, OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD mea culpa to the victim’s family.)

So, you ask, what in the sam hello is a “Reserve Deputy Sheriff?”  Yes, I had the same question.  Not to mention the fact that he is 73 years old.  Not hatin’ on the geriatric crowd mind you.  Just wondering what he’s doing on a takedown, shakedown, high-stakes gambit like an undercover sting.  I mean really, does the phrase ‘living vicariously’ mean anything to anyone.  Anyone?  Anyone?  (Name that movie.  Tee hee.)

Except there really isn’t anything funny or tee hee about this.  A man died because an old fart (sorry, let’s call a garden implement by the correct term, shall we?) SAYS he made a mistake and THOUGHT he was grabbing his Taser and grabbed his gun instead and killed a man.  Killed him dead.

And then.  And then, the esteemed Sheriff from above responded with the completely asinine, inane comment referenced above.  He’s equating a surgeon with a wanna-be cop.  Mmm-hmm.  Yeah, I’m seeing that.  Crystal clear.  Roger that.  Over and out.  What the BLEEP ever.

And.  And.  It seems that this 73 year old wanna be got to be a “Reserve Deputy Sheriff” because he gave all sorts of money and stuff to the department.  Sort of bought his way in, in a manner of speaking.  Or writing, to be technical.

And.  And.  It seems there might be some brou-ha-ha brewing about the wanna be’s records as they pertain to being trained and certified and checked off on the weapons.  Or something to that effect. The Tulsa World is doing the investigating.  I got this morning’s disgusting and depressing information from here:http://talkingpointsmemo.com/livewire/report-robert-bates-training-records-falsified

Another bad guy (black) dead.  Another good guy (white) killed him.

Yay Amurica.  Doing really well here these days.

Good grief.