madranchwife

Babbling–seems I’m just rambling on with that title, right?  Babbling.  Yes, I know.  Oddly, oddly, that was a nickname of mine in high school.  Yes, odd.  I would prefer to call myself loquacious.  Or perhaps “wordy.”  But babbling?  I digress, as usual.

So what pray tell am I promising, sort of, not to write about any more?  And what, do tell, was sort of harsh?

Well.  Now I think I know how viewers of “The Red Wedding” episode of Game of Thrones felt.  I think.

So see, it’s like this.  The “mid-season finale” (which is ridiculous by the way) last night of The Walking Dead took a macabre twist that I did NOT see coming.  Nor did any of the viewers I really don’t think.  And yes, I realize that a show about “zombies” is macabre already (and you should see these undead dudes and dudettes–the word macabre just doesn’t do them justice)–but anyhoo, how can a macabre show about undead ‘walkers’ take a macabre twist?  Man, I digress again.  So, as I was writing, macabre twist–no one saw this coming, having a difficult time squaring this circle.  And lo and behold, I’m babbling again.  See how I did that?  Brought it full circle, right back to babbling.  I guess I’ll just spit it out–Beth is dead.  And dead in a really, final way.  Yes, I know death is ultimately final, but this is really final.  And no leading up to it, no foreshadowing, no hints, just WHAMMO.  Bang, you’re dead.  Blood.  In front of god and everybody.  Just like that.  I haven’t felt this way since they killed off Jenny on All My Children, of Jenny and Greg fame.  (I realize I am SO dating myself here because that was a bazillion years ago in high school.  But OBVIOUSLY it left an impression on me as I’m still incredulous that they did that.)

I’m not even sure I’m going to tune in for the next half of the season (I’m assuming there will be a second half as this is the “mid-season” finale and “mid” infers the middle.)

Sheesh.  This rivals the doing-away-with of Mark Darcy.  That was impossible to swallow and I have simply refused to view the new film or read the book (I did try–to read the book, but I just couldn’t get past the shock of it,)  Maybe.  We’ll see.  By the time the second half of the season rolls around, the new Congress will be seated and the shenanigans will be in high gear.  ‘Twould be a good time for me to be preoccupied.  Or imagining John Boehner as a walker.

Now that’s funny.

December 2015 baby!!!!!!!!!!!!

The release of Star Wars 7, The Force Awakens.

How in the name of all that is holy am I going to wait that long?  (I just love using trite, hackneyed, Catholic phrases as I think they seriously get the point across.)

I was going to write about the mountain lion tracks we came across during our Christmas Tree expedition earlier today.  Or my husband’s schizophrenic answer to such.  (It went something like this:  “Those are at least 3 to 4 days old.  He’s long gone.  There’s nothing to worry about.”  And then, uttered with next breath, “You two need to get over next to me right now.”)

Yes, it baffled me too.  On the one hand, he was all reassuring and somewhat condescending at the same time (as in “don’t you know these tracks are several days’ old?  So there’s nothing to worry about”), yet in the very next sentence, I got the look (as in “why aren’t you listening to me???”) and then the exasperated “I told you to stay close.”

I opted for just shutting up and moving on down the hill, dragging the darling daughter behind me.  It is a rare day in Southtown when I opt to just shut my mouth.  (Yes, we’ve broken out the Christmas DVD’s and viewed “The Year Without a Santa Claus” today.  You know the one–with Heat Miser and Cold Miser–and little Vixen sweltering away in a cell down in Southtown.)  (Well, if you don’t know it, or remember it, I suggest checking it out.  One of the finer Christmas specials of yesteryear.)

Anyhoo.  I decided I wouldn’t point out the obvious to said dear husband regarding the conflicting messages he was sending and just be a good little wife with a shut mouth.  It hurt I will tell you.  A lot.  But I’m no mental midget and know when and how to pick my battles.  Arguing about his dichotomous statements seemed to pale in importance compared to being prepared for a wild felid to make her presence known.

I would have taken pictures, but the light was odd on the snow and the dogs had trampled a lot of the tracks.  The paw prints were obvious as was the tail drag with each step down the hill.

Oh, where was this you ask?  Up the draw, behind the house about a half a mile.  Reassuring, eh?  I mean that it wasn’t right out back.  Ha ha.

So now I’m all schizoid in my head, trying to decide what should take center stage.  Should it be the coming of Star Wars 7?  And how flippin’ cool is that anyway?  I mean really.  Really.  Star Wars.  Star flippin’ Wars.  The ultimate in best movies ever.  Or should I spend time cogitating on where that mountain lion might be now, how long ago really did it move across the land back there, is it going to be coming back, will it be hungry, is it a female or a male???

Star Wars…mountain lion…Star Wars…mountain lion.

Yeah.  No brainer.

May the Force be with you.  And with us all as we wait for an entire year.

No, it’s not because the Republicans are thinking they can tie in the moral faux outrage of the new, old Bill Cosby allegations to the shenanigans of the erstwhile Bill Clinton as he carried on with the infamous intern, thereby hoping to Swiftboat the more-than-likely candidacy of a certain Ms. HRC.   (And if you can make any sense out of that stringing together of a few words to resemble a sentence, then you didn’t eat enough turkey yesterday to keep you in an L-tryptophan-induced fog today.)

And no, I’m not sad because said same Republicans are all hot and bothered because last week the esteemed President O decided it was high time to call BULLS**T on the high jinx and shenanigans of the Republicans in Congress as pertains to immigration reform here in this great country.   And, in so doing, simply did what others who have gone before have also done–used his powers of the office to make some executive decisions.  About flippin’ time I say.  And before all my dear Republican friends and family members (do I even have any of those???) get all twisted up and torqued inside, it might do well to read up on history and understand that past presidents (including good ol’ Saint Ronnie and the elder Bush) did also take executive action to deal with immigration issues.  I’ve read articles stating both similarities between Obama and his predecessors and articles stating he’s misinterpreting their previous actions and the White House is playing loose with words.  Either way, presidents take executive actions, especially if the Congress they’re stuck with has better things to do than try to help this country.  If you’re unhappy with this President and his policies and his administration, then elect someone else.  But, and I’ve said this before, and obviously will say it again.  Your guy lost.  Now deal with it.  And instead of bitching and moaning and complaining about the (Warning: SNARK ahead)  “Muslim in the White House,” why not try something constructive and put positive into the world instead of all the negative.  Why don’t we all try working together for a change instead of against each other every damn minute of every damn day.

(Geez, did I go off on a tangent or what?)

And even though the events in Ferguson make me completely, absolutely, without-a-doubt, darn right depressed, I don’t think I can write about them yet without coming across too passionately.  I need a few more days to calm down a bit.  Then we’ll talk.

No, what has me really, REALLY, really sad is that I just learned that zombieville will be off-air for a, get this, “Mid-Season Finale.”  WTH????????????  Mid-season Finale?????  Whoever heard of such a thing?  I mean really.  A Finale in the middle?  Does this make one iota of sense to you?  And now that means I’ll have to wait, after next Sunday’s show, for who knows how long to find out what’s going to happen to my new favorite characters.  And boy-howdy are there some intriguing, unfolding plot lines developing and unfolding, if you will.

Good grief Charlie Brown.  This just might mean I’ll have to tune in to the high-noon drama found in our very own chambers of the Congress.  Debt ceilings, government shutdowns, executive actions.  And all the temper tantrums you can handle.

I’m telling you what.  It could all be so much more entertaining if they threw in a few zombies here and there, roaming the halls of Congress.  John Boehner and Mitch McConnell?????  How long do you think they’d last against some walkers?  Mmm-hmm.  Not long.  Not long at all.  Unless of course, Mr. Boehner could accurately swing a golf club and take some out that way.

Now that’s an image to fall asleep on.  Almost scarier than the series itself.

Sweet dreams!!

This little one was seen crossing the yard yesterday afternoon!  In broad daylight!  She (or yes, it could have been a he, but as usual, we’re all about girl power here, so everything and anything is of the feminine persuasion) traipsed across the front yard, alternately up on the railing of the fence and down on the snow, then in and out of the stone pillars and finally playing around the pine tree in the corner.  Then she hopped across the drive, bounded across the snow and disappeared down the hill to the stream.  I waited patiently for her to reappear, but to no avail.  And no sighting today either.

I know I keep posting pictures of the back ends of creatures, but the damn digital camera is acting all titchy and I can’t seem to take a decent picture to save my life.  In the first picture, she is stretched out, under the  lower fence rail on the right side of the frame.  The second picture has her heading out across the driveway.  You can see her up on her back legs and the black tip of her tail.

I’m fairly certain she’s an ermine.  And we like her, as ermine eat mice.  Sorry mouselings.  But you just can’t live in my pantry.  Or my bathroom.  Or my fireplace.  Or my closet.  Etc, etc, etc.

Oh yes, we’ve been above 0 degrees for a few days now.  Yippee!!  Though the munchkin is ill with a fever, sore throat, headache and general aches and pains.  Not a fun night last night.  Which makes for a tired mommy.  So even though it’s nice outside now, we can’t go out and play.  Such a bummer.  Well, I’m sure we’ll have many days to sled and ski.  I’ll try to be patient.

Blessings be.

First:

What a delicious, outstandingly yummy breakfast!  Holy Toledo Batman.  I was going to take a picture for you all, but the eggs weren’t cooking that fast and it was necessary to flip them under the sweet potato/pancetta hash, so as a consequence, it didn’t end up looking all pretty like the picture in the book.  (Which, the DH felt compelled to point out, yet once again, was likely taken by a professional food photographer and seriously primped and pampered and whatnot to look as it does.  In the picture that is.  Geez, add that to the list of morning ruminations–makeup and hairspray for eggs???  The things my mind strays to.)

Anyway.  We had a sundried tomato sweet potato pancetta hash with sunny side up eggs garnished with fresh basil.  It was delish!  Recipe courtesy of The Paleo Kitchen by Juli Bauer and George Bryant.  OMG it was so good.

In case it wasn’t evident in the above paragraph, we’re changing it up a bit around here.  Goin’ all caveman and such.  More on that later, but let me tell you–we are exploring some fan-damn-tastic food.  I’ll try to improve my food photography skills so I can share the results with you!

Moving right along with the morning ruminations:

I had heard this over the last two weeks, but then again yesterday and I thought how utterly shameful.  (The numbers might be a bit off as I was trying to navigate the blowing snow and ice and stay in the middle of the unplowed highway early yesterday morning on the way to work and couldn’t wholly concentrate on the radio commentator.  But you’ll get the picture I’m trying to paint I’m sure.)  Roughly 2 out of 3 registered voters DIDN’T vote two weeks ago.  Two out of three!!!!!!!!  Doing the math that leaves only 1 out of 3 voters voted.  ONE!  Out of three!  And so the election for the country was decided by just 33.3% of the electorate.  How on Allah’s green earth does that constitute anything close to a “mandate?”  Mandate being the Republican’s new favorite word.  As in them thinking they were handed a mandate by the people of this country to plow ahead with their agenda.  Sorry sonny.  I don’t think so.  Now before you get all hot and bothered thinking I’m hatin’ on the Repubs, I’ve got my own beef with the Democrats.  Cause I’m pretty darn sure a lot of those 66.6% that DIDN’T vote were what could be considered “those goll-durned libruls.”  What a state we’re in now.  Sheesh.  Makes a girl just want to curl up with some Walking Dead episodes!

On those Repubs in Congress getting all high and mighty:

How are they going to square this circle?  Mitch McConnell (as the new powerful dude in the Senate): “There will be no gubmint shutdown.”  John Boehner (as the continuing, kind of powerful dude in the House):  “ALL options are on the table.”  Stay tuned folks.  It’s going to get all LOONY Tunes soon.  Yippee.

On the weather:

Lord love a duck.  What in the world can I say about this?  It’s cold.  Now that was eloquent and verbose.  I just don’t know how to make it any prettier than that.  It’s flipping cold.  How’s that?  Or you could just add your own adjective in there and create your own version.  Whatever.  It’s cold.  And I’m not really sure how this happened, but all of a sudden it’s winter.  And it totally snuck up on me and I can’t figure out why.  It’s not like I didn’t know it was September, then October and finally November.  I mean, I flipped the calendar pages.  So I was sort of present.  Not stuck in a coma somewhere.  And I know the fall was sort of chilly.  I put the shorts and sunscreen and bug spray away.  I remember that.  But the play snow clothes are too small.  And I don’t have a spare pair of snow boots for the travel bag in the car.  And the pots of plants (the dead ones, I know I already mentioned this) were still on the porch.  So what happened?  I’m so mystified by this.  Now I’m planning Thanksgiving dishes??  And trying to finish the Christmas shopping.  Man, talk about a time warp.  I seriously hope this is not just due to me getting old.  Maybe there was a wrinkle in the force or something.

And finally:

The price of oil is the lowest in the last 4 years and I’m still paying more per gallon of gas in Wyoming than the national average.  Go figure.  And the radio keeps talking about how bad this is for the oil producers here in Wyoming.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Look people.  You can’t have this both ways.  You can’t bitch at the president because the price per gallon of gas is higher than it was last election year and then bitch about the price of oil going down that’s going to hurt the big companies’ bottom lines.  Either we celebrate lower prices at the pump for all of us little guys, or we celebrate the massive profits made by the oil producers (which don’t REALLY benefit any of us little guys).  (And don’t even get me started on the good ol’ “Trickle Down Theory of Economics” that NEVER, EVER, EVER, NEVER worked.  And will NEVER, EVER, EVER, NEVER, EVER…EVER work.  Not in a million, bazillion years.  Thank you so much RR for this piece of malarkey.)

I better stop ruminating now.  The coffee is almost gone.  The floor needs to be swept.  The darling diva of a daughter needs to be looked in on.  There’s more swirling around up there in the cranium, but life needs to be lived.

Blessings be!

“It’s like hugging an ice pack.”   Gracelyn, age 7 3/4

Uttered upon giving the dadster a hug yesterday when he came in after starting the truck and shoveling it off.

It’s  a mite bit cold out there folks.  The dear husband assures me that it’s normal to have ice on the baseboards.  And everyone has a storm door that is caked with a layer of ice and frost so thick it won’t defrost until May I’m sure.

When I asked why the walls are so cold to the touch, he offered (lovingly said, I’m sure) “it’s 20 below outside…what do you expect?”  Hmm-mmm.  And then something about that mom’s house (which I stupidly used as a comparison) is made with thicker wall studs (by a measly 2 inches which I guess makes a ton of difference) and is protected from the elements.  Whereas this house is not.  Duh.

Anyway.  It’s cold.  And the heaters have been running nonstop for a few days now…nonstop.

BUT!

And this is a humongous BUT.  Ginormous.  Gigantic.  Gigantosaurus-like.

I’m not HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m not hot.

Woo hoo hoo hoo hoooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m actually cold.  And am putting on a couple of sweaters at a time.

It’s fan-damn-tastic let me tell you.

Well, let me qualify that statement.  The ice on the baseboards is not fantastic.  The ice on all of the windows is not fantastic.  The thickly-iced-up storm door is not fantastic.  The electricity we must be using is not fantastic.

But I’m not hot.

Happy dance, happy dance.  (For those of you new to my world, that of being a mad ranch wife, I simply cannot go into the details of the hotness I’m alluding to.  But think about it a minute or two.  Cogitate.  Ruminate.  It will come to you.  Hint:  woman, mid-40’s, wacked out hormones…yeah, that’s right.  We’ll leave it right there thank you very much.)

The birds have been fed.  Boy were they happy to see us yesterday afternoon.  And the chickadees didn’t seem to mind my ski gloved hands.  They landed just the same.  Black sunflower seeds baby.  Hard to resist.

We have a new flock that showed up a couple of days ago that I have yet to identify.  Pretty though with pink streaked wings, black and gray caps, bright yellow beaks.  The stellar jays have been getting a bit of competition!

And the chipmunks have finally gone to ground.  Thank the lord.  Those little pesky buggers are a pain in the kister.

However.  Going to ground for them means entering our walls and setting up shop for a few months…or the attic…or the fireplace.  Luckily I haven’t found them in the pantry yet.  That’s just the domain of the mice.  You would think that eventually the news would get back to all the little mouselings in the mouse families and the cousins and aunties and uncles and grandparents and parents and neighbors, etc, etc, etc, that this is NOT a mouse-friendly home.  We’re back up to 10 traps now, placed strategically around the house.  And dang if they don’t get sprung at the most annoying times.  Do you know what it’s like to wake from a deep sleep in the wee hours of the morning (cue good ol’ Blue Eyes….”in the wee, small hours of the morning….”) to hear a mouse in it’s death throes, slamming the trap this way and that as the neurons fire haphazardly in their tiny little bodies.  And then lay there, after surfacing from a dream in which suddenly there was this incessant banging of something odd,  wondering if you should get up to check to see if the mouse is really, really dead (cue the Wizard of Oz munchkin mayor…”As coroner I must report, I thoroughly examined her. And she’s not only merely dead, she’s really most sincerely dead.”), or just with a caught paw or tail and trying desperately to get away.

Things that make me truly crazy, loco, off my rocker insane and truly mad.

Blessings be and stay warm!!

I’ve kept this pretty close to the chest for a wee bit.

It’s not something I’m particularly proud of.

And it’s just not something I ever aspired to.

But, there’s simply no more hiding it.

I am–wait for it, wait, wait–a Zombie watcher.  A Walking Dead groupie.  An addict.

What can I say?  I don’t know how it happened, how it started.  I’m not sure when the first hit was.  I just know I can’t stop.  And I don’t know what to do about it.

In fact, I have spent my free time catching up on old episodes, making sure I know the timeline of who joined the group when and who got eaten and who had to be killed and–I know.  Really?  I mean really.  Zombies.  Walkers.  The undead.

I have entered another realm.  And now, I am sorry to say, everyone will know.  And it will be one more embarrassment for my husband to withstand.

What can I say????

AMC’s The Walking Dead is infinitely, INFINITELY, more interesting than the politics of this country right now.

In fact, at this very moment, well, shortly anyway, I’m going to nestle up to my computer and watch the latest episode, drowning my sorrows about the midterm elections in some serious blood and gore.  So instead of refreshing my screen continually and perusing the New York Times site for the latest information, I’m going to head on over to the Undead land and get thoroughly entertained.

I know there is a parallel to be made here somehow, relating the Midterms to the Walking Dead, or the US Congress to the undead, but I’m drawing a blank.  I’m sure it will come to me, but in the meantime, I’m going to get a hit of my latest addiction.  And politics be damned.  It’s all about how fast you can stab a walker in the temple, not how sleazy you can get as a politician.

Oh.  Something is coming to me.  Sleazy, slimy political ads.  Slimy politicians and their slimy promises.  Slimy undead walkers with slimy body parts.  Sliming their way down the road.

Hmmm.  There just might be something there.

Only in zombie land the slimy ones ultimately get put down.

Aha!  I just have to hang out in the alternate universe of The Walking Dead for a bit and imagine all the slimy politicians as walkers.  Who bumble about looking freakishly ridiculous and ultimately meet their doom.

A girl can dream.

Yep.  We did.  And the darling diva said “I sure wish I could vote now.”

Love it.

I have vague recollections of heading to the ballot box with my mum.  Vague.  Hopefully she will have the same someday and will remember my mantra: “every vote counts.”

We discuss democracies and dictatorships all the time and I think she totally gets how fortunate we are to live in a country where our voice matters.

Were it so for all.

Blessings to you and yours.

Yes, there was a bit of a discussion/tussle/fisticuffs regarding who should be the rightful owner of said prize.

Sadly, I had to explain to the 7 3/4 year old diva that inhabits this house that Angus, dear sweet Irish God of love Angus (should be spelled Aengus truthfully, but who’s mincing letters), had done the job of digging it out of the sage brush and carting it down the hill.  So, theoretically, and most rightfully, it should be his.

There were tears.  Real, live tears.  Seems she thought it smacked of dragon bones and as everything in this world has to do with dragons, then it simply must belong to her.

Ah, the harsh realities of life.  Finders, keepers.

But, here’s the really sad part.  Angus toted it around the yard for a couple of days, got down into the yummy marrow and proceeded to leave copious amounts of diarrhea-type substances everywhere.  Everywhere.  So.  No more bone–dragon or otherwise.

Ah, the harsh realities of life.

(Of note:  these pictures were taken in early October.  It’s not green anymore.  And there are no more leaves on the trees.  They’re all on the ground.  HOW do I know this?  Because I had to pick them ALL up in the backyard.  More on that later.  And–it’s raining/snowing as I write.  So there you go.  A “file photo.”  From a delinquent writer.  I’d never make a deadline I don’t think.  The diva thought she was something funny when she used one of her vocabulary words in a sentence this morning.  “Mom is never prompt.”  Ha ha ha.)

Blessings.

We’ve had a plethora of species lately, it seems, traipsing through the yard, sauntering down the drive, meandering up the hill and just basically hanging out.

I’m fairly certain the large bird is the merlin who last summer had a few incidents with the bedroom window.  Luckily for her (I’m assuming the gender here because I’m in a girl power mood this morning), she’s got a hard noggin, as she’s still about and wreaking havoc with the local mountain chickadee population.  Speaking of which, you’ll see that we have created quite the relationship with our resident avian friends.  Gracelyn has become quite adept at getting them to take sunflower seeds from her hand.

The moose was causing our dear old chocolate Labrador some angst early one morning a couple of weeks ago.  When I went out to see what the hullabaloo was about I saw a strapping young bull moose standing just outside the fence, calmly perusing the ballistically barking canines.  At least I think he was perusing.  He was quite still and seemed to be pondering a thing or two.  I told him, ever so politely, to stay and that I would be right back, with the camera.  I dashed inside and fumbled around for the damn thing and by the time I got back outside, that young moose had decided he’d had enough of the cacophonous canines and headed up the hill.  So the best I could do was a shot of his backside.  Better than nothing I think.

The deer appeared one morning during school.  We looked out the window and there she was, as still as a statue.  She stood there for quite some time, deciding on something we think.  Finally she turned and headed back up to the cabin, and the shelter of the trees.  There was one other one with her.

The bird is an immature red-winged blackbird!  Isn’t he pretty?  Passing through with his buds as they move southward.

The owls are not eager to be photographed so you’ll have to trust me when I tell you we hear them at sunset, while out raking up the detritus of the autumnal blaze of glory.

Blessings be.