madranchwife

Nah.  Publicly stating that I will vote for Hillary Rodham Clinton is not a confession.  Everyone knows that.

And no, stating that I’m a Walking Dead-obsessed, fanatical fan isn’t really uber exciting either.

Here’s what I decided I needed to share with the world.  (Well, I mean the tiniest bit of the giganticus maximus of a planet that stumbles onto this paltry little site.)  I figured it was only honest of me to let you know that, when it all comes down to it, when it is all said and done, I am secretly happy, HAPPY, that the Christmas season has started.

There.  I’ve said it.  Whew.  I feel so much better.  It’s absolutely, without-a-doubt true that the first step is admitting and it feels so liberating!

We love us some Christmas here.  We want S-N-O-W!  We watched White Christmas on Sunday.  (That was November 1st in case you need a reminder.)  We being the darling diva I live with, in case you need an additional reminder.  I have searched for and found the satellite radio station playing all Christmas, all the time.  I smiled inside and out when we were at Natural Grocer in Steamboat on Saturday for the Halloween party and there, on the shelf, in gorgeous red and white packaging with little snowflakes and candy cane striped ribbon were gift packages of Christmas-themed soaps.  Yay!

And…nirvanas of nirvana…RED CUPS at Starbucks!

I have decided to embrace the crazy and finally admit to myself and the world that I love Christmas.  I always have.  I love the season.  I love winter.  I love the snow.  I love the music.  I love Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby.  (They just don’t make them like they used to.)  I love Frank and Dean crooning Christmas ballads.  One of my most cherished memories is my mother sliding the LP out of the red cardboard cover and placing the record on the player, and then waiting for the scratchiness of the needle, followed by Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and the whole crew singing the classics.  I can see that cover still–it had photos of each singer in what looked to be an ornament all circling a green wreath.  A delicious memory that tingles to the toes and warms my sometimes hardened, cynical heart.

For many years I have tried to stuff this elation at all things Christmas.  I have tried to be bothered (like so many others I hear complaining) about the appearance of Christmas items before Thankgiving (in years past) and now before Halloween!  I used to complain about the “commercialization of Christmas.”  Good grief, I shudder and want to disappear in shame when I think about that.  Truth be told–I am ELATED about the Christmas season.  Many years ago I carefully recorded (on VHS no less) the Christmas specials we used to watch on the telly when we were little.  You know the ones.  Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (with the talking snowman who narrates it), The Year Without a Santa Claus (who doesn’t love the Heat Miser and the Cold Miser?) are just a couple.  I could go on as I used an entire tape for them all.  Then, JOY, JOY, JOY, I found them on DVD.  And we have the entire collection, with some extras thrown in.  We’ve finally gotten past how scary the Abominable is and can enjoy Rudolph and Yukon Cornelius and Herbie the Elf in all of their glory.

I could go on and on and on about how much I love the season.  I could wax philosophical about the ways it makes me feel and why. There is so much.  But, I’m having a difficult time articulating thoughts at the moment.  (School is waiting and the teacher is notably absent.)

One more true confession, and this one may be a doozy.  Judge if you must, but remember that judging on another is usually an exercise in idiocy.  If I’ve learned anything, it’s that every time I judge, I only make a fool out of myself.

That being said–my confession.

I don’t love the Christmas season because it has been co-opted by the Christian church as some sort of bday celebration of a man who supposedly lived about two millennia ago and then traveled the world area in which he lived, performing supposed “miraculous” things (for lack of a better word).  I use the word “Christmas” only because that is the general word that encompasses the season.  I love “Christmas” because to me it is a celebration taking place in the middle of the winter, a way to gather friends and family and be grateful for all that has been and all that will be.  My joy at the season, I am sure, comes from the long ago celebrations that very much predated the Christianization of Christmas.  I come from peoples who live on an island in the North Sea, from peoples who worshipped the earth, who celebrated the trees and the land and the cycles of the seasons.  Peoples who built large stone monuments to come together (it is thought) at the times of the year that correspond to the changing cycles of the sun and the moon.  It is thought that the mid-winter celebration of the Winter Solstice is what predates the modern Christianized form of Christmas.  (I’m not going to go into the research and the data here.  I have it if anyone is interested, but that is not the purpose of my joyful missive.)

I loved the season long before I married the love of my life.  I loved the season long before I then became pregnant with the second love of my life.  I didn’t think I could love the season anymore than I did.  But then my daughter was born on the Winter Solstice in the year 2006.  At the time of the setting of the sun.  A true Solstice baby.  And my life changed and has never been the same.  For me, the season of Christmas took on an additional meaning.  It was my own rebirth.  I found my purpose here on this earth.  The hole inside closed up and I realized why I am here.  I became a mother–the absolute most perfect, most wonderful, most fulfilling, most challenging, most heartwarming and heartbreaking thing I have ever set out to do.

It makes the Christmas season even more intensely delicious for me.  Every year I celebrate the birth of my daughter and revel in the blessings her life has bestowed upon me.  I thank the Universe for being allowed to be her teacher, her guide, her mother.  And it all coincides with a time of year that I find intoxicating.  It fills me up inside and spills over, and I drink from the saucer of life that sustains me.  Joy.  Pure joy.

There you have it.  My true confessions of the day.

Now please LET IT SNOW!!

Blessings be.

I mean really.

We’ve got snow.  A little, but still.  Snow.

The trees and grass are still green down in Civilization (read, the Front Range).

Satellite radio will begin with its dedicated Christmas music stations on Sunday (read, November 1st).

Glenn is dead.  And that irks me to no end.  Not so much I guess that he’s dead.  Because if you read the comic books you know that he’ll meet a rather gruesome end eventually, meaning he is just not going to survive the Zombie Apocalypse.  But really.  That’s not supposed to be for a bit.  And granted, it wasn’t going to be pretty.  But this was out of left field.  And such an ignominious way to go too.  The part that irks me to no end is that “you made me care–damn you.”  (Said to the producers of my obsession.)  Like I simply do not have enough to care about ahora mismo.   Ah, sorry.  Got carried away with the espanol.  Which, by the way, my smartypants computer doesn’t appreciate and keeps wanting to retype as some other words that, in all truth, simply don’t sound correct either.  What I meant to write was that I simply have A LOT going on RIGHT NOW (ahora mismo).  Agghhhh…how do I get it to stop with the auto-correct?  Enough already.  What the heck is “agora miso?”  Seriously.  That’s what it keeps trying to correct it to.  Good grief Charlie Brown.

On that note–we’re making some headway in the Spanish lessons.  It’s totally cool and I just have to say that she (the darling diva I inhabit this home with) is kicking some major butt–mostly mine–in the Spanish department.  She has the most adorable accent and sounds literally like Spanish is her native language.  And she remembers EVERYTHING.  Wow.  To be young again with an uncluttered mind.  Unfettered by the debris of the ages.  What I wouldn’t give.  I will have to settle with living vicariously through her.  Hope she doesn’t mind a hanger-on.

Back to Glenn.  I knew he wasn’t going to come out on the other side, wherever that may be, whenever that may be.  But I really just wasn’t ready for this.  And, again, I’m peeved that I care.

I mean really.  Really.

Shouldn’t I be more concerned about, say, the Republican candidates for President?

Ha ha.  That one made me laugh and almost spew my coffee all over the spiffy Mac keyboard.  Would have served it right for its asinine auto-correctedness.  But then I’d have had un problemo.  So thank the goddess it was an “almost.”  And yes, I’m drinking coffee.  And yes, it’s midnight.  What are you going to do?  This is truly my first chance to sit and have some “me time.”  And what better way to enjoy it than with a breve latte?  I do sometimes miss the days of yore, when I’d have a steaming 1/2 caffe dark chocolate mocha with whip sitting by the computer.  But I don’t miss the headaches and body aches and stomach aches.  So there you go.  Making do with a latte.  Sometimes sacrifices are called for in life.

Other things this week that made me shake my head:

1.  The Republican debate–and really, what can be said there that hasn’t already been said?  Well this I guess.  Good ol’ neurosurgeon Carson is finally in the lead.  But the punditry class is calling Rubio the winner.  I think only because he sort of smacked Jeb! upside the head and made him look the pathetic excuse for a member of the Bush family that he is.  And they all said he was “the smart one.”  Scary thought.  But I’m not sure why Rubio is being hailed as the winner.  Ted Cruz sort of went off on the media and got lots of applause.  Who knows.  Who really knows.  Here’s what I have to say to the grand ol’ GOP (yes, I am well aware of the redundancy implicit in the last few words):  If you want to be respected by the majority of Americans as being of sane and right mind, then put forth respectable candidates that are of a sane and right mind.  Well, really.
2. The farce of the Benghazi hearings that cost us lowly little taxpayers somewhere in the $20 millions.  Sadly, I had to work on Thursday so could not watch any of the testimony given by the esteemed HRC.  But the darling daughter was hanging out with her groovy grammy and they both sat and watched a bit.  I of course had no objections as the darling daughter has told me several times already “This country needs a woman president.”  I figured she’d form her own opinion of Hillary and let me know.  Sure enough, she did.  Just as we were going to sleep, she snuggled up to me and said “Hillary was awesome!  She sat there like this (here she mimed resting her chin on her hand and looking back and forth) and just watched them argue.  She is so cool!”  And the next morning we both looked at the front page of the New York Times with the very  same pose by HRC my daughter was trying to show me.   I don’t care if you don’t like Hillary.  Or if you don’t trust Hillary.  Or if you think she’s just feeding everyone a line and feels entitled.  Bottom line.  She was a pretty cool cat that day.  And my daughter noticed.  The one takeaway for her was Hillary sitting there, cool as a cucumber, watching her interrogators bicker with each other.  To my daughter, Hillary looked presidential.  She looked honorable.  She looked like a woman I would want as a role model for my daughter.  Believe me you.  I have had a long journey to this point today in which I’ll stand up for Hillary.  First and foremost I was irked (there’s that word again) at her “standing by her man.”  I do not like Bill.  I never have.  I do not now.  I never will.  World without end, amen.  I do not appreciate men who treat women as if they are simply playthings, who think they can wink and nod and get away with the most detestable of actions.  But.  But.  She is not he.  She stayed for reasons I will never understand.  And bottom line–us sisters got to stay together.  Girl Power and all that.  Luckily for me, she’s a progressive liberal  (read, librul).  So this was a plus for the week.  Really.
3. I did a REALLY stupid thing on Tuesday and set off from the house, headed for Steamboat for gymnastics class, without checking the road and weather reports.  Dumb, dumb, dumb.  Stupid.  Really stupid.  We drove right into a blizzard on Rabbit Ears Pass.  So much snow and blowing snow I could only see from one reflector to the next–what’s that?  About a tenth of a mile?  Suffice it to say it was very poor visibility with snow-packed, icy roads.  And NO snow tires on yet.  And NO cold-weather emergency bag in the car.  And NO hats or gloves for either of us.  Thank the goddess we left the house with coats.  Good grief.  We’ve had such a long, dry, warm fall that I got complacent.  And the snow just sort of snuck up on me I guess.  Usually by now we’ve had a couple of snowstorms and it’s cold enough to know that winter is coming.  Not so this year.  We’ve got about an inch left on the hill on the south side of the house, in the shade.  The rest melted, and this is the good part, seeped into the very dry ground.  It’s a constant stress around here about precipitation and fire danger and whatnot.  Makes me crazy.
4. And finally, Paul Ryan.  I don’t even know what to say here.  I honestly can’t see him as Speaker of the House.  All I can see is John Boehner.  He’s ruined it for me forever I think.  But Paul Ryan?  Really?  Eye roll and face palm.  Like he’s the white knight on a white steed who’s going to charge in and Save the Alamo.  Oops.  Got my metaphors mixed up.  I hate that.  But seriously.  What in the world is Paul Ryan going to do?  He’s been touted all week, well, for a couple of weeks for that matter, as the solution to all that ails this world.  At least Washington D.C. that is.  And I just don’t get that.  What is he going to do that John Boehner couldn’t?  Not seeing it, I am.

Well, the espresso buzz has buzzed out and I’ve got nothing else.  We’re ready for winter now, in case you were wondering.  The emergency bad weather bag is packed, the snow tires will be put on next week, the skis have been rented and the ski passes will soon be bought.  Yippee!  And all while listening to Christmas music starting Sunday.  Which is fine by us as we love us some yuletide seasons.  Birthdays, Solstice celebrations, peppermint, hot chocolate, stockings, trees decorated with tons of lights and cinnamon stick stars!  What’s not to love?

Blessings be.

The following are those little snippets of news that I hear throughout the day, coalescing into the (warning:  turn on your snark-0-meter) unbridled compassion and empathy I end up feeling for some of the most tragically affected in our country.  This does happen on a regular basis you know–I feel compassion and empathy.  For the most tragically affected–in so many ways–in our country.

Who, pray tell, am I referring to?  Yes, right, I’ll get to it.

Last week, on one of the random days that the stock market twitched a bit, it seems that Walmart stock dropped about 12%.  Or was it 11%?  Something like that.  Tragic anyway.  Tragic.  I guess they reported that their earnings for 2016 or 2017 were going to be really low.  (I will say that anytime anything about Walmart is said, I only pay attention with about half an ear.  I detest Walmart.  I always have.  I think they may have been started with good intentions.  Hats off to good ol’ Sam.  But I think The Greediness has overtaken them and they do despicable things.  I digress…)  Back to the news report.  Because of that little blip in the value of their stock that day, the four Walton family members that control Wally World lost about $9 BILLION.  Too bad.  So sad.  Tragic.  Simply tragic.  Oh, and one of the reasons given for the projected low earnings?  No.  Silly you.  Not “Obama.”  Well, I suppose they will find a way to link it back to him, but one of the reasons was because they are having to increase wages.  Well really.

Another piece of tragedy.  The esteemed Congressman Trey Gowdy (can’t help myself here–you know the one with the weird gray haircut that looks like a cone on his head???) who, and I say this knowing that it sounds ridiculous, is in charge of the hit job committee on the embassy in Benghazi.  The ridiculous part was the “in charge of.”  What a dork.  What a jerk actually.  I think the number thrown around now is somewhere around $27 million spent on Benghazi hearings.   ?!?!?@?!??!?  Yeah.  That’s a lot of money.  For shenanigans.  Here’s the tragic part (snark again).  Mr. Gowdy has been complaining to some media that he’s had a helluva week and “poor me” and whatnot.  I can’t even go find the link to the articles I read cause I simply don’t have the time and I’m already simmering as it is.  Tragic.  He’s feeling put upon because his shady dealings are being unshaded.  Get a grip Gowdy.  You made your bed.

More tragedy?  The House of Representatives has some fairly moderate members I guess.  Ones that aren’t hellbent on throwing temper tantrums and threatening to run this country, and subsequently the global economy, off a cliff.  These members have been caught saying that if the so-called Freedom Caucus continues to hold the House hostage, they might just quit.  Throw in the towel.  Give up.  The tragic part?  Republicans…you made your bed.  You created this mess.  You let it get to this point.  Too bad.  So sad.

Tragic is the fate that has befallen Jeb!, the wanna-be Shrugger-in-Chief.  That seems to be good ol’ Jeb!s answer to tough questions he’s encountering on the campaign trail.  Mass shooting at a campus in Oregon?  “Stuff happens,” with a shrug.  Space shuttle blowing up?  “Can’t remember the name,” with a shrug.

Gah. The man (Jeb!) is pathetic.

Oh god.  I just remembered one of the most tragic things of all.  I read this in passing a few days ago and I stuck it away in the recesses of my mind because I didn’t want to acknowledge it.  So I didn’t track it down and find out if it’s true or not.  But it’s possible that along with that nifty little punctuation symbol (Jeb!), the “smart” Bush brother may be following, oh this hurts, a Paleo diet.  It hurts because I cannot have anything in common with that man.  I simply cannot.  I thought he’d been looking sort of slim and trim.  I figured it’s cause the only thing he’s been eating is his foot (or both feet on some days), but it might be because he’s getting healthy.  Ugh!  I mean, that’s great for him and all.  I wish all people could find out how awesome this way of eating is, how good you’ll feel, how happy your brain and body will be.  But seriously.  Jeb!?  Ugh.

Gotta go work on geography.  We happen to be on Canada and its provinces.  Kind of cool now that they just elected a dreamy new leader!!

Blessings be.

…I am undone by the enduring goodness of man.

(Please know that in this case, I am using the word “man” to refer to our species, not to the gender.)

As per usual, on the glorious weekends when I am not slogging through the hallways of a certain medical institution dealing with the travesties of the human race that are all too often a result of self-infliction, I sit in my cozy little home, located in a little slice of heaven, grateful for the blessings that have been showered on my life.  I listen to the news programs, NPR should you even have to wonder, and revel in all that Wyoming Public Radio has to offer on the weekends.  We are a truly lucky state to have such a wonderful public radio institution.  But I digress.  As per usual as well.

Back to my Saturday morning nirvana when I am fortunate enough to be home.  I also peruse the news via internet.  And up until the last few minutes had been despairing of the state of things.  From good ol’ Jeb! and his “stuff happens” response to the shooting in Oregon to Ben Carson and his Couch Rambo commentary on how he would have been a damn hero and done things differently, to the still wacky high-flying Donald and his unexplainable (is that a word?) continued hold on a significant part of the electorate of this  country.  From the ridiculous flip-floppiness of HRC, which seems so obviously panderment (again, new word) that it grates on the nerves to the histrionics (continued as usual) of the GOP elected members of Congress.  I can’t even go into details of the temper tantrums but seriously…just give up already on Planned Parenthood!  And Benghazi?  How much more money of ours can you waste?  Really.

So, lots of despairment here.  (As you can see, I’m feeling nonsensical and wordy.)  The report of an Annie Oakley showing up in a Home Depot parking lot has me thinking perhaps I shouldn’t venture out to the big box stores after all.  Amazon.com has most everything I need anyway, from batteries to vacuum cleaners to gold braiding for the pirate costume I have been commissioned to make.  Who needs to go out into the big, bad world where you might find yourself collateral damage as a result of some YAHOO with a gun and a concealed carry permit thinking she needs to be all bad-ass and help the security officer of the store stop a shoplifter?  A shoplifter.  For the love of Pete.  I think I’ve written about this before.  Here we come Wild West.  Let’s all just hanker back to days of yore when Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday roamed the streets (now it will be parking lots) and there were showdowns at noon on a daily basis.  Give me a flipping break.

Do I even need to go into the statistics that have been posted this week relating to the number of guns in the country versus the number of people in the country (including infants)?  No.  I can feel my blood pressure rising. And I’m losing the warm, fuzzy feeling I got when I stumbled across one of the most bliss-inducing, feel-good-down-to-your-toes, just downright restore-your-faith-in-humanity stories I have read all week.

It takes place in South Carolina.  Oh, wait.  One more piece of despairment.  The state of South Carolina is now under water as a result of 24 inches (that’s 2 feet!!) of rain that fell in a VERY short period of time.  The same state with the esteemed Senator Lyndsey Graham who is now pleading with the Federal Government for relief aid (MONEY) for his state.  The same esteemed Senator Lyndsey Graham who voted AGAINST federal funds to be given to New Jersey for financial relief from the devastating effects of Hurricane Sandy.  Hypocrisy much Mr. Graham?

I digress.  Back to warm fuzziness from my head to my toes.

A man and his family had taken it upon themselves to canvass their neighborhood, knocking on doors and whatnot, trying to make sure that everyone was ok.  They (he and his family) were tired and he determined they needed to take a break, get warm and dry and then head back out to continue their work.  He spotted a car floating in what was supposed to be a meadow.  He thought it looked odd.  He tried to use binoculars to see if anyone was in the car.  He couldn’t.  But he didn’t feel right not taking a look himself.  So he put on his life jacket and headed out into the “meadow.”  A hand came out of the car.  He got closer and found an elderly gentleman with his dog, the gentleman in hypothermic shock after having been in the car approximately three hours.  The would-be rescuer high-tailed it back to his home and tried to get his boat started.  No go.  He waded back out to the car (about 200 yards away in waist deep water no less) and asked the gentleman if he would consider leaving his dog as the man thought he couldn’t take both.  Of course, the old man said no.  The rescuer improvised, put the dog on a suitcase and started across the water.  Close to the edge of the water, he became overcome with fatigue and faltered.  His wife jumped in and helped bring the elderly man to safety.  As I write this, I am crying.  The pictures are frightening.  The human spirit is indomitable.

And for this moment, I am undone by the sheer goodness of man.  It is there in so many ways.  In all of us.  We, I, need to take the time to find it, to unwrap it, to feed it, to let it prosper and grow.  Together, we can.  And that reminds me of a certain slogan thrown around about seven years ago and then egregiously made fun of in the ensuing years.

Hope and change.  Yes, we can.

Yes, we can hope for a better way.  And yes, we can change it so that the better way becomes the only way.

Blessings be.

Here is the link to the above storyhttp://www.today.com/news/south-carolina-flood-family-heroically-saves-man-dog-trapped-car-t49221

Ridiculousness.

I bet you thought I was going to write about the esteemed neurosurgeon and his latest winning ideas for this country, right?  Or maybe the continued blitzkreig of The Donald at the top of the pile.

Guess what?  (The dear darling daughter’s favorite saying these days.  Right after…”I know, right?”  That one cracks me up.)  But I digress.  As usual.

No, I’m not going to write one word about the cowardly “Couch Rambo” commentary offered by the afore-mentioned must-have-been-smart-at-one-time neurosurgeon.  Nor am I going to write a word about the unfathomable fact that The Donald is still riding high.

No, the ridiculousness I am referring to has nothing, nada, zip, zilch, zero to do with politics.  I know, right?  (tee hee hee)

What is ridiculous is that no matter what I do, no matter what I say, no matter how I conduct myself, I am constantly faced with–this is so embarrassing–a, for lack of better words, mouse issue.

Yes.  Mice.  They’re at it again.  Making me crazy, nutso, off-my-rocker, insanely mad.

What is it with these little creatures?  I feel haunted almost.  I used to listen to a great song…wish I could sing it for you…”wherever you will go.”  I don’t remember who it was by.  But the point was–“wherever you go, I’ll be there.”

Oh.  That’s another song, right?  “I’ll be there.”  1970’s I think.  Can’t remember that singer either.

And then, there are always the good old standbys–Bible verses.  Something along the lines of “whither thou goest….”

OK.  Getting the picture?  Wherever I go, there is a mouse.

And certainly, after five years here, I think I’ve sort of come to terms with the fact that we have mice.  In our house.  In our walls.  In our attic.  In the garden.  In the backyard.  In the garage.  In the apartment.  In the shop.  In the tractors.  In the barn.  Just generally in everything.  And basically, this is just the way of life here.   And the sooner I come to terms with it, the sooner I can find some semblance of sanity regarding the Mouse Issue.

All of that being said, I was most definitely NOT prepared to be sitting in my car on Tuesday afternoon, in the Ace Hardware parking lot in Steamboat (roughly 75 miles away), after having already made two previous stops in Steamboat, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a little brown mouse with two black, beady eyes–scurrying out from under the hood of the car, straight up the windshield and onto the roof.

I am not flipping kidding.  I think it took a couple of minutes for my jaw to stop hanging open.  And then, I did what I normally do in situations where I am faced with the smallest of mammalian creatures, who seem to be threatening my serene and tranquil life.

I called the man of the house.  Even though I was roughly 75 miles away and he was at work, doing important work-type things, and what in the blazes did I think he was going to do for me anyway?  I mean really.  Really.

I simply can not NOT call him.

Face palm.

Actually, double face palm.

One of these days, I’ll fight my own battles.  I swear I will.

Just not yet.  And not when it comes to the Mouse Issue.

As ever, when I call the dear sweet husband and disturb him when he’s at work, doing work-type things, and ask inane questions such as “Honey, do you think the mouse is going to be ok?  and Honey, how do you think the mouse got under the hood of my car? and Honey, what should I do?”…as ever…I can hear the eye roll (roughly 90 miles away from where he’s sitting on a horse trying to coax some ornery bulls into doing whatever it is they are being asked to do).  And after I hear the eye roll then I quietly endure the silence and the ever-so-quiet sigh of impatience.  Finally I get my answer: “The mouse is fine.  He’ll just run away.  He’s probably living under the hood of your car.”

And then this: “We have mice in the garage you know.”

And then this: “Now, can I go?  S**t…”  static, garble, garble, garble, static

I think to myself: “Self.  Now you’ve done it.  He’s out there working so hard at work doing work-type things and you’re bothering him with a question about a mouse.  Way to go self.”  And then I wonder why he said “S**t.”  And then there was just static and garbled-ness.  Cowboys with cell phones.  You never know what you’re going to get.

But I digress.  Again.

Back to the Mouse Issue.  I decided to go on into the store and hope the mouse decided to visit Steamboat.  As I was gathering my wits, and my purse and keys, dang if that little brown, black beady-eyed creature didn’t scurry right back down the windshield and under the hood of the car.  ?!@!$#!

I couldn’t help myself.  My fingers dialed the phone before I knew what I was doing.

Me: “Honey…”

Him:  Massive sigh…”Yes dear?”

Me:  “Well, so, the mouse?  He ran back down the windshield and is now under the hood of the car again.”

Him:  “OK.”

Me: “Well, so, is that ok?  I mean, can he get in the car???????????”  (Rising voice at the end of the question.)

Him:  Massive eye roll.  “No. He can not get into the car.”

Me:  “Are you sure?  Not at all?”

Him:  “Well, maybe through the air vents.  Honey, I need to go.”

Me:  “Ok.”  Thinking to self: “Self!  The air vents?????  Holy guacamole.  Shut them quick!!”

I went inside the hardware store and scurried back to the car.  No mouse anywhere that I could see.  (That I could see.  But that left a lot of ground I couldn’t see.)

Egads.  A mouse jumping out while I’m driving?

Could this issue get any more ridiculous?

I tried to put it out of my mind, let it go, think that perhaps the mouse stayed over in Steamboat for a vacation.

We headed home.  With closed vents.  At times cold (but no way was I going to turn the heat on), at times hot (again, no way was I going to turn the air on).

Upon return to the safe haven of the garage, the dear husband checked under the hood.  And found, just as neat as can be, a mouse house.  A little abode atop the distributor (or something like that–I sort of lose interest when it comes to car engine parts).

So now I’ve got to worry about mice in the engine.  Worrying about mice in the walls, in the attic, in the laundry room wasn’t enough.  Now they want the engine in my car.

For the love of Pete.  When will it end?

The things that make me crazy, insane, bat-guano crazy mad.  Good grief.

Now that you have that little ear worm dancing about so prettily in the vast infiniteness of your craniums, courtesy of me sharing it with you, let me show you the “beings” in our neighborhood.  (In our neighborhood…in our neighay-bor-hood…..who are the people in your neighborhood…need I go on?)

They’ve been here the last couple of weeks and at various times we’ve been fortunate enough to lay eyes on them.  And even more fortunately, at times, grab a picture.

The coyote has been a bit more elusive, just leaving little packages to tease the dogs.  But the coyote is there alright, trust me.

First up:  the Prairie Falcon

**As always, please excuse the amateurish photography.  The damn camera is on its last click, and the iPhone just doesn’t cut the mustard.  Course, as always, could be operator error.**

This avian being is, I am fairly certain, related in some form or fashion to the youngster who hit the window a few weeks ago, in a Kamikaze manner reminiscent of a Japanese suicide pilot.  He died instantly, I am sorry to say.  I wrote about a second one who was ridiculously attempting to nab one of the Stellar Jays out front who were roughly the same size.  I theorized that one must have been a male.  The one above is about twice the size of the falcon hitting above his weight class (even though the photo may not do it justice).  I am theorizing she is a she.  As she was NOT attempting to battle the jays, though she did appear to be twice their size.

Next up:  Brother Fox

This was taken through the bedroom window (thus the weird lighting).  I didn’t want to step onto the front porch and scare him off.  Once again, I so wish I could stop doing this, I am attributing gender.  I simply do not know.  We’ll go with Brother Fox here, just because.  Literary license and such.

Anyway, he’s been tooling around here for a couple of weeks.  Leaving his scat in strategic spots around the property, I’m thinking in a fashion to drive the canines berserk.  Which it does.  And which makes the husband and I laugh at the fox’s ingenuity.  As in a single piece of scat on the doorstep in front of the shop.  And another at the beginning of the path to the house.  Makes us smile.

Next in the neighborhood (think Mr. Rogers…just in case the ear worm had left your cabeza, I’m helping to reintroduce it):  Brother Moose

(These got out of order, but I’m too lazy and technically challenged to fix it, sorry.)

(And as I’m certain this is a male specimen of the species, I feel confident in calling him Brother Moose.)

He showed up last week interested in the flowers on the porch, but as I was more concerned with keeping the loveable Springer Spaniel Angus from going through the plate glass window, I didn’t get photographic evidence. Luckily he came back.  During school no less.  The little one happened to be daydreaming (though she would vehemently deny it) and jumped up and whispered “mom!  you’ve GOT to see this.”  I came running, silently, so as not to awaken the sleeping giant of a guard dog (see Angus reference above) and gaped, yes I gaped, at himself in all of his glory in the front yard, checking out the bird feeders.  I ran, again silently, for the camera.  But then decided I needed to cage the beast should he wake and see the challenge out front.  So instead of a money shot, I pulled and prodded the slumbering Spaniel to his kennel.  By the time I got back, the neighbor had moved on to the side of the yard and was slowly making his way along the house.  So the shots are all of him retreating I guess you could say.  Though I was wondering if his interest in the satellite dish was because he was trying to figure out if Hughes Net allows one to watch The Walking Dead as the season starts next week!!!!!!!!!!!  A moose after my own heart.

That will warrant a whole separate post, so look for it to come.

And now, on to a beautiful fall Saturday morning.  Chilly here.  More leaves on the ground than on the trees.  The tang of fallen leaves is intoxicating to me.  It rivals the smell of rain on sagebrush.  I used to have to go for fall drives up into the trees so I could soak up as much of the smell of forest and woods as I could.  Now?  Now I have to be one of the luckiest, most fortunate people alive as all I have to do is step out onto the front porch and inhale.  It is truly glorious.  I am truly blessed.

And blessings be to you as well.

Nirvana.  Absolute nirvana.

National Coffee Day.  What could be better than that?  Around here, coffee is considered the nectar of the Goddess.  (One guess as to the Goddess-in-Residence.)

I’ve got nothing more than that right now.  It rained during the night giving a sweet, pungent scent to the air of downed aspen leaves and sagebrush.  A heady thing to inhale.  Along with the morning cup of joe.  The sun is shining.  The sky is that impossible September blue.  The aspens are dancing and sending more of their golden dressings down to the ground.  There is a slight chill in the air–definitely fall here.

Ahhhh.  Autumn in all of its autumnal glory.  On a day celebrated for coffee.  What in the world could be better than this?

Well.  Add in an adorable daughter dutifully doing her schoolwork already.  Life is good.  So good.

Blessings be.

Wow.  So much stuff going on.

Were you lucky enough to see the five-times-in-a-century Super Moon/Red Moon/Lunar Eclipse last night?

So cool.  We had some clouds moving in and out, but it was spectacular nonetheless.  A little chilly, but as the munchkin and I lay out in the front yard marveling at nature, we decided it was well worth it.  And not quite as cold as earlier this summer when we got up at 2 am to witness the Perseid meteor shower.  Which had clouds interfering as well.  Such is life.

Look what my dear, sweet, darling of a husband did for us yesterday!

He laid rocks all the way from the patio to the gate, in an effort to prevent the muddy mess that happens as soon as winter comes…and then goes…

And all of it done on a Sunday during football season.  What a guy, eh?

More breaking news today.

Water on Mars.  Who knew?

The only thing I see though is that damn Arnold Schwarz-en-whatever-his-name-is movie. Mars and lots of red, bleak landscape.  And craziness.  Not sure water on Mars is a good thing.  But then, what do I know?

Stormy day today.  Clouds and a little rain and lots of wind.  It’s raining aspen leaves–my favorite type of precipitation.  Well.  Not really.  I guess I’d have pick snow as my favorite precipitation.  Much to the dear husband’s chagrin.  But the munchkin and I adore our winter sports, so there you go.

And there’s Buck–the dog that just keeps on going.  He is truly amazing.

Off to fix dinner.  Trying to find something yummy.  Roasted lemon brussels sprouts and asparagus.  Grilled hamburgers.  Grain-free, egg-free, dairy-free drop biscuits (which are to-die-for).  Followed by Mexican Chocolate Whoopie Pies with Vanilla Bean Frosting (from http://www.paleoparents.com).  YUM!

Blessings be this beautiful autumnal day.

“Survival of the fittest” seems such an apt phrase for this past week.

First, firstly, foremost–there’s a little prairie falcon circling around the front yard this morning, trying desperately to find breakfast.  He (as always, I’m assuming gender and I shouldn’t as this one could just as likely be a she, and I should be true and respectful to my own gender and should have written “she” to begin with)–but I digress, as per usual–so let me begin again.

I like beginning again.  Do overs you know?  They’re the best.

There is a prairie falcon circling in the immediate front yard desperately attempting to nab one of the stellar jays which, oddly, are of the same size as this little prairie falcon.  Must be a male actually, the longer I think about this.  Only a male would suffer such hubris.  Thinking he could grab out of the air a bird just as big as he.

Sorry to all of my male friends and family whom I love and appreciate and adore.  I’m sure not one of you would fall in the category of inflated egos.

Speaking of.

Inflated egos that is.

And survival of the fittest.

Isn’t it just the tiniest bit of crazy that The Donald is still on top of the heap?  I’d say he’s surviving just fine.  Though he’s got a bit of a challenger in the esteemed neurosurgeon.  Who just happens to believe that evolution is a bunch of malarkey and the Constitution, that was written a couple of hundred years ago, somehow said something very specifically against Islam.  That would be Ben Carson.

Idjits.  Both of them.  But surviving nonetheless.  So what in the sam hell does that say about the American electorate?

Survival of the fittest?  Scary thought.

And moving on.

Yet more signs of survival of the fittest–(which has a direct correlation to evolution of the species, but don’t tell Dr. Carson this)–looks like John Boehner is not.

Surviving that is.

John Boehner resigning.

Be still my heart.

Though, to be sure, the thought of who might end up replacing him sends shivers down my spine and starts the brewing of a migraine.  The crazy is crazier than ever.  Who knows who they’ll come up with?

More surviving of the fittest for the week goes like this:

~the Pope as he survived Congress  (yay Pope Francis, you are the man!)

~the Democratic Party as Kim Davis and her 4th husband have now switched allegiances to the good ol’ Repubs  (good riddance I might say)

~only a few aspens left here with yellow/gold leaves as it was simply too cold in July and then too dry (bye-bye fall, we hardly knew ye)

~the dear darling husband and his big, mean, red truck as he took on the momma cows and the babies who kept walking over the cattle guard (not much of a cattle guard, eh?) into our front yard

~said momma cows and babies as they all ran back over the cattle guard without breaking a leg (sigh of relief)

~me and the munchkin as we climbed to the Eagle Catch again yesterday…it gets easier every year and this year she led the way, up and down

***This causes me such angst.  Bittersweet.  The first time we did it, she was almost 4 and needed to hold my hand up and down.  And it took so much longer with her little legs.  It’s still wonderful, don’t get me wrong.  It just tugs at my heart.  Survival of the fittest–those who can weather the storms of melancholy as the days move into years gone past.  Those who remember to stop and live in the moment and to be grateful for the blessings abundant all around.***

~so far so good as school goes–we’re both still here and in one piece and plodding along at an alarmingly impressive pace (yay us!)

There were more examples of survival of the fittest this week, but they’ve eluded me at the moment and the day needs to be got to.

One little piece of interesting information I stumbled upon.  I suppose this falls under “survival of the fittest” as well, being as the Constitution has survived thus far.

Did you know that there are 4,543 words in the Constitution and NONE of them are the following:  Jesus, Christianity, Bible?

I know, right?

Who would have thought.

The Constitution–NOT based on Christianity.

Great.  Good.  Can we just get on with things then?

I did it.  I finally did it.  (No, I did not “see the light” and switch allegiances to The Donald. And I most certainly did not decide that Ms. Davis is the Second Coming.)

No, rather, I finally accomplished something I have been attempting for the last ten months.

I found a grain-free drop biscuit recipe that is SO close to the to-die-for buttermilk biscuits I used to make that everyone (read–the three of us) at the table last night couldn’t stop smiling.  It was a REALLY good dinner.  Roasted pork tenderloin with a garam masala rub, roasted garlic carrots and DIVINE biscuits.  Holy crow were they good.  There was one tiny, eeensy, weensy, little insignificant detail.  I used real butter and milk instead of dairy substitutes.  So not completely allergy-free, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed this doesn’t bother the darling diva of a daughter’s dermatome.  We shall see today.

In other news, Buck continues to do well.  The dog is truly amazing.  He’s got a huge incision on his flank and sutures in an eyelid that must be so irritating.  He’s taking all these meds and he still just motors along.  An inspiration to be sure.

The aspen leaves are falling, but nothing pretty to speak of.  At least not here anyway.  There are some spots over the top of Rabbit Ears Pass that are turning beautiful colors, but in general, a lot of the trees’ leaves were simply too dry.  So they’re just falling off, slightly yellowed, dry and crispy.  Visions of fire are dancing in my head.  Not a nice way to fall asleep.  I knew I should not have looked at pictures of the California fires before going to bed.  Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Thankfully though, it rained last night.  And is now cool and breezy this morning.  I’m not sure if more rain is on the way, but I’ll take what we can get.  It is getting VERY dry out there.  I had sort of become lackadaisical regarding fires and evacuation lists and a bag packed by the door because we had so much rain in July.  But I need to remember that things could change in the blink of any eye (see latest California fire) and I need to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Well, that’s enough of the happy, happy this morning, eh?

I’ll head back to finding more divine Paleo-inspired, grain-free recipes for the family.

Blessings be.