madranchwife

Now, as a disclaimer, please do NOT freak out at the following picture and know, deep down inside your little ol’ hearts, that I would NEVER condone ANY harm being done to one of the animal (or in this case reptile) species.  …  Well, aside from the nine mouse traps set in the house.  …  And then there was the hiring of the sharpshooter for the gopher/chipmunk patrol.  …  But that’s a different story for a different day and we can discuss all of that at a later time.

SO…back to the super heroics of the super hero of the house:

I didn’t capture the release as that cute little tiger salamander high-tailed it into the dirt/leaves in my nonexistent flower garden (which I have been needing to write about in a cathartic way, but just haven’t been able to deal with the grief yet).

(NO SALAMANDERS WERE HARMED IN ANY WAY DURING THE PHOTO SHOOT FOR THIS BLOG.)

This actually happened before we left on the National Lampoon vacation, but one had to contend with veterinary patients and human patients and what not, so the literary hat had to be hung up for a bit.  I do apologize.

So…early one morning, when Superman was actually still in the house when I woke up, I noticed the little, annoying, pain-in-my-behind rodent that has singlehandedly, SINGLEHANDEDLY, destroyed my gorgeous flower garden, chewing away at one of the last pieces of greenery in evidence.  But, I digress.

So I called over Mr. Man’s Man a.k.a. Superman to show him the elusive little bastard (sorry, can’t help myself–the irritation with the rodent runs deep) and wondered if perhaps he could do something about it.  Meaning could he somehow capture the elusive, destructive rodent and take it somewhere far, far away.  (Now that the garden is destroyed…but it would make me feel better..again, I digress.)  As we were watching the little rodent stick his nose up and throw out another mouthful of dirt from below, himself saw a little movement (he has VERY good eyes…of course he does you say…he’s Superman) to the side.  This is through the window mind you.  I tried to capture a picture of the rodent as he poked his head up but it was through the window and the little dude was too fast for my digital camera–that whole amateur photographer thingy.  So anyway, Mr. Man’s Man headed out to the porch, thus scaring away the rodent (which was a good thing, but I really did need to capture him, dead or alive) and proceeded to tell me it was a little salamander and he didn’t look so good.  Seems the rodent had dislodged him from his lodge, probably tossing him up with the dirt.  The little dude (the salamander) probably didn’t know what hit him.   So I, being all Lois Lane-y, pleaded with Superman to save him.  And Superman being Superman picked up the tiny tiger salamander and placed him ever so gently in some cool dirt/leaves over to the side of the rodent’s destruction.  I did make him stop mid-transfer to capture the moment for posterity’s sake (whatever that means, as it is truly such an odd phrase).  And thus, the photo above of a tiny tiger salamander hanging upside down by his tail. 

I am very happy to say that after he was ever-so-gently placed into his new surroundings, he perked right up and started sauntering away. 

Yeah Superman!! 

And yes, I do see the hypocrisy in all of this.  The nine mouse traps in the house.  The gopher patrol.  Yet I’ll beg and plead for Superman to save a tiny tiger salamander, displaced from his home.  It’s a very schizophrenic existence  here…just one of the things helping to make me crazy, nutso, off-my-rocker, insanely mad!!

Yup.  We did it.  We rented one of those big, ridiculous looking thingys with photos plastered all over the sides and in gargantuan numbers, the 1-800 phone number for RV rentals to Cruise America.  Boy did I have to eat a lot of crow.  For years I’ve wondered why on earth people drove those things around…what were they thinking???

Well, let me tell you exactly what they all must have been thinking…

How do we get from Point A (being home) to Point B, C, D, E, F and G in a timely fashion that won’t break the bank and oh yes, did I forget to mention, accomodate two canine companions?    (Or something to that effect I imagine.)

I won’t give you the down and dirty details, mainly because it is extremely late (of course), there are a gazillion loads of laundry to do yet, homeschool lessons to be planned, and various and sundry other odd jobs that have been left by the wayside due to other pressing things.  (Those things being the other hats I occasionally wear…or scrubs I should say.)

Gracelyn and I visited Devil’s Tower in northeastern Wyoming and Jewel Cave in South Dakota  two years ago when I was president of the Wyoming Veterinary Medical Association.  All Gracelyn could talk about from that trip (when she was 3 years 9 months old ) was that we didn’t walk the entire Tower Trail around the base of Devil’s Tower and we only did the very short, 20 minute tour of the cave.  (I didn’t think her little 3 year old body could handle the mile and a half walk nor the bazillion steps down into the dark cave.  Whatever.  Seems I should have just done both of them then, as she’s talked of it since.)

She also thought that Daddy should have been there.  So, two years later, we finally convinced himself we should make the trip. 

What to do with the canines?  Thus the RV excursion was concocted, planned and then executed.  And what a trip it was!

We saw Devil’s Tower up close and personal.  Yes, we walked the entire trail around.  No crowds, late in the day, beautiful fall weather.  Sublime really.

We headed to Mount Rushmore (even more impressive than it was when we were kids–Greg and I–no, not together then.  We each remember family trips.), Crazy Horse Monument, a dinosaur museum in Hill City, a train museum, and the coup de grace for Gracelyn…The Mammoth Site in Hot Springs South Dakota.  An ongoing excavation of approximately 59 mammoths (known at this time)!!!  Totally cool.

A whirlwind tour (as usual for us), a fun time was had by all.  I think even the dogs enjoyed themselves. 

See pictures below!

So this is a totally true story, not embellished by me in any way.  And it is completely maddening.  Absolutely.

Returning the RV to Fort Collins yesterday (what???  I forgot to tell you we rented an RV to tour the Black Hills, with dogs and child and various and sundry items of necessity???  Well then, I guess I know what I’ll be writing about later tonight.  Tune back in later.)

So, as I was writing…returning said RV to Fort Collins, I was driving the brand new (not so much anymore, but it rhymes) red, fast Subaru and Mr. Man’s Man was driving the RV.  I was behind by about 20 or so minutes and needed to catch up.  My cruise control was set at 70 mph.  Speed limit being 65 mph there.  As the State Patrol passed me I started hyperventilating, had both hands clenched tightly to the steering wheel, stared straight ahead and tried to act like a very, very good little driver.  I didn’t stop hyperventilating until he was at least a mile in the distance, just a speck in the mirror.  And then went on my merry way.

Mr. Man’s Man, on a roll yesterday, asked me when we met up in Fort Collins if I’d seen the State Trooper.  I said yes and proudly described how I’d been only driving a teensy, eensy weensy little bit over the speed limit and I didn’t get stopped!!! Yeah me!!

And do you know what Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman then told me???@?#?#  He said he’d been driving 80 mph (80, eighty, 80@!!!!!) when he passed the trooper who, and you are NOT going to believe this, flashed his lights at Mr. Man’s Man, waved a little wave and KEPT DRIVING!!!!!!!  What the flip is that about?????????????   I am not kidding you.  True story. 

And with that, I’m off to Laramie for the munchkin’s soccer game.  One more consequence of ranch life.  Soccer games are played far, far away, in distant lands necessitating LOTS of time in the car.  Wish me luck.  Obviously my luck yesterday will not hold out much longer.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Whew.  What a week last week.  I wore plenty of different hats, just not one of ‘blogger extraordinaire’ I’m afraid.  I dug myself out of mothballs to go be a veterinarian.  Now that was an interesting experience.  Then I was mommy for about 24 hours and then off  to human medicine land as a physical therapist.

It’s a very confusing time for me.  Sometimes I don’t know if I’m coming or going!  And at times I have caught myself giving out medical advice to one species thinking they were of a different species.  As in, “I think we should think about some deworming medicine,” instead of “perhaps using a walker would help you get around a bit better.”  (I’ll let you decide which advice goes with which species.)

Then there was that time in veterinary school when I was working in the Large Animal Clinic ICU for the night shifts and at the human hospital on weekend days as a physical therapist.   I think I was subconciously worried it might happen, but thought I was keeping my brain sufficiently compartmentalized that it wasn’t probably going to happen.  As in “possible, but not probable.”  Now, I haven’t told many people this story, so please protect my reputation.  You know, the one of not really being a blonde, and in no way, shape, or form being considered a Phoebe (which I’ve always truly aspired to be Monica if you must know).  Anyway, it was a particularly long Friday night in the ICU with several equine patients that needed tending.  Not much sleep.  Then, bright and early, off to the Rehab Dept of the hospital in town.  I can’t remember exactly how far along in the day I had made it.  I just remember standing in the therapy gym with a tiny, older woman, trying to get her to walk across the floor with her walker.  I leaned over, after offering words of encouragement (which were met with a stony silence), and without realizing what I was doing, clucked to her as I’d done with the horses the night before.  You know what I mean, don’t you?  That thing you do when you want a horse to follow along…you go “tuu, tuu, tuu.”  (I have no earthly idea how to spell it phonetically, so if “tuu” isn’t doing it for you, then put in your own letters and just cluck away.  Whatever you come up with has got to be sort of close to what I did.)  !$!%#$!  I “clucked” to this little old lady to try to encourage her to walk across the gym.  When I realized what I’d done I hastily changed to something along the lines of “come on, I know you can do it.”  Or some sort of jibberish like that…anything to fill in the silence and attempt to erase the sounds that had emanated from my mouth just seconds before.  That sweet, little, old lady didn’t utter a word.  Not a peep.  She just kept plodding along.  I think, to this day, she must have been just a touch hard of hearing.  Much to my good fortune, eh?

OK, so long story short here, I would like to say that my worries of clucking to a human at the hospital or suggesting a deworming regimen did not happen and I survived with my brain intact. 

Transitioning back to mommy brain was a bit more difficult.  I think I do even more multi-tasking in this role than any other.  And the mommy hat trumps the veterinarian hat in difficulty level any day of the week. 

And this is what I was given when I finally returned home:

(Because the hat I’m wearing right now is not the uber-techno-geek one, I simply can not figure out how to add text after the inserted gallery of photos…leaving me to have to add an update/addendum/edit of the original post…sheesh.  So…what I would have liked to have written at the end of the pictures was that the colors were vibrant today so I took many, many shots, hoping to capture the exact nature of the vibrancy.  I don’t think I succeeded.  But at least you have some idea of what I looked at all day long.  It was breathtaking.  And we had a clear sky today!!!  Yes, there were many clouds, but the blue sky peeking out was truly blue.  It’s been so horribly hazy lately (mega doses of forest fires) that I think it was dulling the colors.  So the lighting today was more than likely a photog’s dream…just not done justice by this one!  I tried to capture the sunlight as it backlit the tops of the aspens as it was breaking through the dark clouds.   Regardless, I think you can appreciate some of the beauty of the colors in our “backyard.”)

I’m doing some relief veterinary work at a clinic in Casper this week.

It’s everything veterinary medicine is…challenging, fun, interesting and, unfortunately, incredibly sad.

I met a 4 yr old Bernese Mountain dog named Buddy yesterday.  The first case of the first day at the first time back in a clinic after a nearly six year hiatus.  Of course this would be the way it would go.  Of course.

Buddy came in very sick…with very large lymph nodes throughout.  All of my instincts said lymphoma–the clinical signs matched, the cytology of the lymph node aspirate said yes, but I simply could not give that death sentence to his owner without a definitive diagnosis.  So all day today, she and I waited on pins and needles for the Wyoming State Veterinary Laboratory to call me back with their interpretation of the slides sent down yesterday.

I would love to tell you I was wrong.  I tried to convince myself I was wrong.  I think Buddy’s mom tried to convince herself she didn’t really hear me say that cancer was one of the differentials on the list.  So when we got the results confirming my worst suspicions, neither one of us wanted to inhabit reality.  And we both wished we could turn the clock back several days and have a do-over.  That if we could, we’d rewrite it the way we thought it should go.  And neither one of us would be sitting on that little bench in the exam room, looking at a piece of paper with the horrendous, ugly words “lymphosarcoma, immunoblastic variant, high grade” typed on them. 

My heart aches for Buddy and his mom and dad tonight.  This is the part of veterinary medicine that rips out your insides and leaves you hollow.  That makes you want to scream at the universe that “this isn’t bloody fair!  What on this green earth are you thinking?  Lymphoma in a 4 year old dog???  REALLY???  Seriously????”  This is the part of veterinary medicine that makes you question why you ever thought it was a good idea to apply to veterinary school.  The part that makes you think there is no justice in this world, that happy endings don’t exist, that the world is black and grey.  And then, somewhere, it’s possible to remember, to grasp onto a tiny thread of thought, and come to the realization that this is EXACTLY why it was a good idea to apply to veterinary school.  And that perhaps it seems as if there is no justice in this world, that life is truly not fair…but we CAN make a difference.  And despite this being so incredibly sad, we can make the end of Buddy’s life a little better, a little more comfortable.  And when the time comes, we can ease him along on his journey to his next experience.  We will cry, together with Buddy’s family.  Because every time one of us is called to minister at the end of an animal’s life, we can’t help but recall all of those who have gone before.  All of those animal beings that we have helped at the end of their earthly existence.   

Sad?  Yes, incredibly.  But we would have it no other way I suspect.  “We choose to surround ourselves with lives more temporary than our own” (author unknown and as I’m far from home this night, I cannot find my source.)  And yet even after those lives are taken from our side, all too often all too quick, we would choose again in a heartbeat those furry friends to walk the path with us. 

So tonight I honor Buddy…and his human family…and their precious bond.  Give your animal companions an extra love tonight, cherishing their presence in your lives, if only for a short time. 

“Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.” (WB Yeats)

Sorry.  Couldn’t help myself.  I simply had to inject my teensy, tiny, little opinion into this.

Cause you know what?  I’m one of those 47% he’s talkin’ about.  (He being the Super Duper Republican nominee for President…Mitt Romney, in case you’ve missed the latest kerfluffle.)  I received Pell Grants as I was putting myself through college (yes, lots of it–college that is).  I received Federal Stafford Loans, had them deferred until I had a means of making the monthly payment, and then got them consolidated by good old Sallie Mae.  Did I feel it was an entitlement that I receive all that assistance to make it through school?  Absolutely not.  I whooped for joy when I got the financial award letter letting me know I received a $1000 Pell grant one year, decreasing the amount I needed to borrow to $24,000 instead.  Did I work my little tootsie off during every year of school, sometimes holding down two jobs at a time, in addition to a full-time school load?  Yup.  Sure did.  Does that sound like a freeloader????  Yeah, didn’t think so.  Does that sound like someone who thought they were entitled to free education…or education at someone else’s expense????  Yeah, didn’t think so.

Do I receive tax breaks now because of the gargantuan amount of student loan interest I pay every year?  Yes.  Does the tax break cover it all?  No way jose.  Not even close.  But it sure is a welcome addition (or should I say subtraction?) when I’m filling out our tax return.  Do we receive a  mortgage deduction?  Yup.  And thank goodness we do.  Do we pay our fair share of taxes, on top of those two tax breaks?  Yup, sure do.  The way I figure it, about 25 to 27% total taxes each year.  WAY more than good ol’ Mitt pays.

Does my dear grams survive on a Social Security check?  Yup.  ‘Nuff said.  Or should I write about the Medicare she and my mum and my in-laws get to use as their health insurance?  They paid into the system, now it’s keeping them afloat.  Cause you know what?????  If we didn’t have those programs, guess who’d be footing the bill for these loved ones?  Yup.  Me and those family members in my generation.  As we’re struggling to make ends meet right now.

My family members are not victims.  I have never once heard any of them speak as if they feel they are entitled to handouts from the government.  And, most of them will vote Republican…that’s the irony.  And man does it hurt.  My tongue is almost severed for how much biting it I’ve done lately.

Yes, Mr. Romney, perhaps it would have been better if you would have been born a Mexican (as you so eloquently stated in your remarks at the now infamous fundraiser in May).  Then perhaps you might have had some inkling of what it would be like to be one of us…one of us who aren’t of the 1%. 

I do apologize to the few faithful readers I’ve acquired.  I simply could not help myself.  And I feel my words may be rambling and at times incoherent.  I want to get this posted as I’m soon going to be kicked out of Starbucks, which for the time being is my only internet connection. 

Things that make me mad, crazy, nutso, off-my-rocker insane!

Vaya con dios amigos.

**UPDATE**

Lest I forget…the dear husband is a veteran.  Of the U.S. Navy.  Our mortgage is a G.I loan.  Do we feel entitled to have received that??  Not in the least.  Grateful yes, entitled…NO.  Should we discuss the disabling injuries he received while serving his country that to this day cause daily pain?  ENTITLED to health care for very same injuries????  I don’t damn think so.  And neither does he.  (Not that I should speak for him.  And I’m darn sure I’ll hear about this post from him, as he is rather tight-lipped about things such as these.  He’ll not appreciate them being broadcast.  But, they help to prove my point.  So there you go.)

I mention this because grouped in that magic “47% of Americans” that Governor Romney deems pretty much to be freeloaders and victims are 1)seniors (of which I refer to above), 2)students (of which I have been) and 3)the military (my husband).  

So I take his comments quite personally.  And now I’ve got my hackles all hackled up.  I HATE when that happens.  Guess I’ll go enjoy another triple shot mocha, courtesy of my FAVORITE place (other than home with the little dudette)…Starbucks!! 

Again, vaya con dios amigos and amigas.

***UPDATE redux 2***

Sorry, will get off of this shortly, but I just remembered the part that started the hackles getting all hackled up.  It was that teensy, eensy, little line about “I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsiblity and care for their lives.”  AAAGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Excuse me.  I don’t take personal responsibility for my life???  I don’t care for my life and those dependent on me?  I think I should just have been handed the $145,000 in student loans and not pay back one single cent?  I think my in-laws who have paid their dues should not be able to be covered by Medicare?  I think my grams should not get a social security check each month to pay for her living expenses (as meager as the check is) because she and my grandfather paid into the system on the assurance they would receive a small benefit later????  All of these family members are not taking personal responsibility for their lives? 

OWWWWW…my head hurts.  And the hackles are starting to make my neck cramp. 

I’m done.  If only cause now I’m kicked out of Starbucks and need to head back to the apartment where I’m staying, in which, blessedly there is no internet and only the local news station on the tv.  I promise there won’t be any more updates.  At least not on this thread.

We had a lovely day today (Sunday).  We got to take a hike together this afternoon and enjoy the definitely fall weather.  A bright blue sky, no clouds in sight and a bit of a cool breeze made for a wonderful walk up the mountain.  The dogs were a bit bummed as they couldn’t meander about (too many cows and their babies wandering around, not to mention those of the hunter persuasion).  The colors aren’t quite at their peak but I’m not sure we’re going to have a spectacular one like last year.  A lot of the aspens are sporting leaves that appear almost brownish…making me think they’ll skip the gold this year and head straight for dead.  Bummer, but such is life.

Regardless, on our way down…the dear husband and daughter decided we needed to “bushwhack”…one of their favorite pasttimes.  So we left the trail and headed across the hilltop, then descended (slipping and sliding a bit on the dry, loose dirt and rock) to a hidden gem!  A stream with water in it!!  Bonus for the hot, thirsty canines.  And lush and cool in the shade of the towering pines.  It was actually quite green in there and for awhile I forgot how dry and dusty it really is. 

So the up was a good walk, but the down was the treasure!  You can see the darling little one showing daddy the way to go on the treasure map!  Thank goodness someone was navigating!

Showing the dadster the way to go!

A cricket on the hill! Shortly after his photo op, he bit the hand!

This was not easy to do I just want you to know.

All tuckered out and dreaming of that rabbit they chased!

Now I’m headed to dreamland as well.  Buenos nochas amigos!

Yup.  She really said that.  Mad about me denying her another piece of cake (as in seconds), the little cherub offered up this statement intended to pierce her dear mother’s heart to its core. 

Unfortunately for her it didn’t have the desired effect (meaning, a second piece of cake), nor did it leave me distraught, or in tears, or pleading with her to please, please, please take it back.

I turned my back to her so she couldn’t see the humongous smile on my face (I didn’t want to disrespect her for her artfully intelligent thought of something that would equal the unhappiness I had created in her.)  Then I tried to keep my laughter in as I turned back and said to her, ever so kindly and sweetly, “Well, darling, that is definitely your opinion.  And, as we’ve talked about SEVERAL times, everyone is entitled to their own opinion.  Even if we don’t agree with it, or believe the same thing.  So, even though I don’t agree with what you said, you can think whatever way you want.  And I will love you just as much right now as I did before.  I will ALWAYS love you, no matter what you say or what you believe.”

So you see, I can be reasonable.

Some of you may have been wondering just who this Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman is that I am constantly referring to.  And you may have been thinking that there is no way someone of that magnitude actually exists in real life.  As in you’ve only ever seen anyone measuring up to that standard in a comic book…you know, like Wolverine of the X-Men (though I’m not sure he could be described as Mr. Woman’s Man…or a man at all, for that matter).  So then maybe Edward.  You know who I’m talking about ladies.  Edward Cullen, the to-die-for vampire of Twilight fame.  I mean really, who DOESN’T need an Edward in their life???  Really.  But then again, he doesn’t exactly qualify as a man, per se. 

So, superheroes and vampires aside, who on earth could possibly fill the bill? 

Mm-hmm.  Well, see this is where Mr. Right enters the picture.  As in…the dear husband.  I know, I know…how on god’s green earth did I EVER get so lucky??????  I ponder this question daily (and if you cannot spot the satire from a mile away, then there just might not be any help for you).

You see, I married a man who is simply, well, superhuman by anyone’s standards.  The crazy thing is that I did not know this in the beginning.  (I know, what am I…blonde???)  What can I say?  I miss things.

As in…the phenomenon of Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman.  Right in my own home!  Who would of thunk it?  Certainly not I.  Never in a million, bazillion years.

Here’s the way of things.  I’ll let you decide where you may fall on the spectrum.  (And this is in no way meant to denigrate either the dear husband or any of you who think so highly of him.  The whole damn thing completely, COMPLETELY mystifies and baffles me on a daily basis, though I have long since given up trying to figure out the “why” of it.  I now simply sit back and watch, amusedly mind you.)

Mr. Man’s Man

This is the man that all men want to be around, simply because…well, he is a manly man himself.  And I’m surmising here, but I could be dead wrong because after all, I’m just a woman, but it could be that other men want to be manly men also.  So they naturally gravitate toward the manly man, thinking that some of that manliness might rub off on them.  It’s like all the men want to be him.  Case in point (and truly no offense to our dear friends here visiting…well, they’re not really visiting us, they’re hunting…those very same cow elk out there calling “yoo hoo boys, come and get it..”–but I digress…)  Oh lord, where was I?  Oh yes…case in point: the other night, there was himself (Mr. Man’s Man) outside putting together the final pieces of the playset, using his power tool thingys and just basically doing manly stuff.  I looked out the window and standing around him in a semi-circle were the three hunters/visitors/friends (really, they’re all of these).  Hands in pockets, rocking back and forth from toes to heels, listening with rapt attention to whatever it was that himself was saying.  He was gesturing with one of those power tool thingys (there were several out there…which is baffling as it is because why on earth do you need so many power screwdriver, drill things?) and those three men ringed around him seemed to be hanging on every word.  Truly baffling. 

This is not reserved for manly men like hunters.  It happens whenever ANY of my family members come around.  (Not that you dear family men aren’t manly!)  The guys all gush about the snowplow machine out there and want to know how it drives and how it works and then…then…he took them fishing.   And lord love a duck but wasn’t that just about the coolest thing in the entire world.  Well, there was also the wood-chopping and the fire building in the rock ring fire pit himself built out in the “backyard.” 

And it’s not just reserved for family either.   Everyone wants his advice on everything from shoeing horses (though, if I do say so myself, I’ve not met a better farrier…and NOT just cause I’m married to the guy) to what nail to use to what’s the best way to fix anything that’s been broken.

And this seems to me the most egregious of all (not sure if that’s the correct word here, I just think it sounds cool)…he has been stopped NUMEROUS times (too many to count in the nine years we’ve been together) by numerous different lawmen–State Patrol,  City Police, town police, the county sherrif’s deputies…getting my drift?  And not once, NOT ONCE, has he received a citation.  He always, always, always gets a warning.  Now what in the heck is up with that?  Me?  I get tickets.  Mr. Man’s Man…he gets warnings, and sometimes not even that.  Sometimes they just end up chatting.  Chatting. 

Mr. Woman’s Man

This one isn’t so baffling as much as it is frustrating.  All women complain about their mates, don’t they?  For some little reason or other.  Well, and this is truly true, I’ve not met a woman who hasn’t spent a little time with Mr. Woman’s Man who hasn’t fallen under the spell.  I’m serious.  All he has to do is flash those baby blues, crinkle up his eyes and chuckle and they all swoon…practically dropping like flies.  I’ve watched it happen to a room full of otherwise sane females.  That on any other given day, if Mr. Woman’s Man was nowhere in sight, would be sympathizing with me about my latest complaint.  But something happens to anyone of the female persuasion when he arrives.  They get a bit dotty.  And here’s the clincher…I’m not immune to the flashing and the chuckling.  And the dude knows it.  So when he really wants something, or is looking to escape the latest rant of the crazy lady that he lives with, he’ll crinkle up those eyes and chuckle and I’m on the floor with the rest of them.  Just like that.  No willpower.  Nada, zip, zilch.  I’m a goner.

The frustrating thing about all of this is that I know his MO.  I’ve got it down and I still get sucker-punched.  Each and every time I fall for it.  And then I completely forget why I was white-hot, steam-blowing, revved-up mad in the first place and he saunters jauntily out the door.  Whistling a merry tune.  AAgghhhhhh…..

I will say that on occasion I have used this to my, and our, advantage.  If for some reason I have run into an unreasonable female say in a customer service position or whatnot, I’ll sweetly ask Mr. Woman’s Man if he can talk to said female, knowing full good and well that he will get the results that I want and need.  That for some reason all of my kissing up to and brown-nosing and obsequiousness simply hasn’t produced, but which will quickly be righted once Mr. Woman’s Man is on the job.

Mr. Everyman

This is the one that can do everything.  Plain and simple.  Simply everything.  From surviving in the wilderness with a shoelace and a single match to building a princess throne from scratch because the 5 year old asked for one.  From chipmunk sharpshooter (gasp…don’t tell the PETA folks) to Frank Sinatra croon-alike (yes, I made up that word).  From daddy-that-can-do-hairstyles, play dress-up and create construction paper projects to Mr. Fix-it of simply ANYTHING.  The list is endless…are you getting the picture?  Mr. Everyman is simply everywhere, doing everything, everytime.  And everyone knows it.

Mr. Superman 

So Superman is invincible.  And knows it.  And can leap tall buildings in a single bound.  In the dear daughter’s eyes, her daddy can do all of that and more.  Which is why she bought him a Superman pin (to pin to his chest) and wants me to make him a red cape for Christmas.  NOT going to happen mind you.  As if himself needs any more building up of his image as the world’s most wonderful superhero. 

Mostly for me, this is evidenced by the Herculean effort put forth to remove the latest dead mouse from the trap (something I simply abhor doing) or ripping and tearing the door jamb apart looking for the source of the marching maggots. 

Well, also, there was that night two winters ago when we got stuck on the road in the dark in 40 degree below zero weather.  Superman, who had earlier in the day undergone some mighty serious sedation for some dental work and who had just taken more Percocet and was still fuming because Mrs. Superman refused to let him eat a cheeseburger and instead only let him have soft french fries and a chocolate Frosty, buried the fairly “new, red, fast Subaru” deeper into the snow, all the while cursing at the stupid car because it wasn’t all it was made out to be.  Never mind the fact that the exact spot where we got stuck is on the curve most susceptible to mind-numbing Arctic wind blasts causing unbelievable snowdrifts across the road.  And never mind the fact that, despite being Superman, his brain was a little fogged, so perhaps his Superhuman, Superman, lightning-fast reflexes were a bit dulled.  Causing my dear, precious clutch to protest in vain as a myriad of warning lights began to blink on the dashboard.  So, Superman yanked open the door, got out, snarled, (OOPS I mean “said” cause we all know Superman doesn’t snarl)..said “don’t go anywhere,” and set off into the dark.  I turned around to look at the dear daughter in the backside, raised my eyebrows and said, quizzically, “where would we go?”  And then, “do you think we should try to call somebody?”  (Note:  Superman was obviously having an off day and might have needed a bit of help…say Robin or Batgirl or something?)  After approximately 30 minutes, anxious ones at that, slowly out of the darkness emerged a figure, trotting down the road.  OK…trotting is not the word I should use here.  More like high-stepping through the two feet of snow blanketing the road, and trying to do so in a timely fashion.  That’s more like it.  So, out of the darkness, a figure emerges, with a scarf wrapped around his head and carrying…a shovel.  What happened to the truck???  Superman then proceeded to dig the car out of the snowbank, in 40 degree below weather (that’s WITHOUT wind chill factored in), under the influence of some serious drugs, with only a french fry and a chocolate shake for energy.   And after, which I learned at a later time, being chased by two rather startled, rather large cow moose he spooked on his mile-long trek up to the house.  Did I fail to mention we were rather far from home at that point? 

So…all satire aside, there are some benefits to living with Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman.   Of course, if one were to really start thinking about it, one wouldn’t be living out here on this ranch, on the side of a mountain, in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mice and maggots…if not for Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman.  Hmmm…..the things that make me crazy, insane, nutso, off-my-rocker mad.

Good morning.

So this lovely bird showed up yesterday morning, sitting on the fence in the front yard.  He was there again this morning, though I didn’t get a good picture.  Ironically, as soon as the bird left the fence this morning, not 30 seconds later, there were two chipmunks exactly where it had been perched!!!  Bastards.  We have become simply overrun by the little rodents (yes, I know the people up on top of Trail Ridge Road coo and ooh and ahh at the cute little buggers, and feed them and take pictures of them…but here, they die in the walls and scrabble around in the attic and take all the birdseed that I left out for the birds…bastards…).  Just one more of the things causing me to be crazy, nutso, off-my-rocker, bat-guano mad. 

Anyway, I’m still trying to identify the winged visitor.  My first inclination was to think it a hawk of some kind, but it seems a tad bit smaller than the red-tailed hawk who lives in the “backyard.”  So then I thought perhaps a kestrel.  As he, or she, flew up to the tree I caught a glimpse of black and white horizontal tail feathers, so that’s another clue.  I’ll work on the identification…and obviously better digital photography.  I have Photoshop Elements ready to be loaded and played with.  But then I got this crazy idea I needed to start blogging and any computer time I do get is spent here.  So I promise…better quality photos coming.  (Maybe if you open it and make it bigger, you might be able to see it better.)

Geez. I know that just doesn’t do anything for you….I mean as far as identifying the raptor.  I will definitely work on that whole Photoshop deal. 

Have a lovely day!!