madranchwife

This could be, possibly, maybe, likely, a bad deal.  A very bad deal.

As I do on the glorious Sunday mornings when I am not ensconced in the depressing, fluorescent-lighted, macabre building that I spend precious weekends in (sorry human hospital workers everywhere…I must be honest)–ahem, as I was saying–when I am not there and I am here, happily ensconced in my cozy, idyllic, slice of heaven I listen to the news (on the radio–no television here), I drink some coffee and I peruse the world news on my trusty computer. This morning has me worried.  I’ve developed a new cause for concern.

As if I don’t have enough on my plate.  Melting permafrost in Alaska, rising sea levels elsewhere, forest fires engulfing the West, dry, dry, dry grass here.  Fourth grade math.  Ugh.  That tops them all.  Let’s get this out, shall we?  I love math.  I am a math geek.  I love numbers and anything and everything to do with numbers.  Numbers rule the world.  We do not go through a day without, in some way, shape or form, doing math.  Numbers are beautiful.  Math is beautiful.   Sheer, unadulterated beauty.

The darling daughter that I inhabit this house with seems to think otherwise.  And has gotten it into her head that she’s no good at it.  This prompts me to want to rip my hair out on a daily basis and run screaming from the house “aaagghhhhhh……”  (One more thing that makes me crazy, nutso, loco, off-my-rocker, insanely mad–as in loony-tunes mad, not angry mad.)

We’ll be going along, slowly, but along albeit, and all of a sudden, out of left field, whammo.  WHAMMO!  She throws out a higher-level answer to a higher-level computation that she did in her head!  That I didn’t even ask for as I was going in a totally different direction.  And wouldn’t have even THOUGHT to ask her.  I kid you not.  I’ll sit there completely dumbfounded and speechless….I know, right?  Me speechless.  (The dear husband likes it when I’m quiet that way.)  And then I collect my senses and we move on.

Wow.  Did I ever digress.

Back to what I added to my plate this morning.

A study reported on by the BBC has contested the necessity of making the bed every morning.  I know, right?  At first, I thought this should be lumped in there with the study that I reported on a few months back about chickens and math.  (Trust me.  I wrote about it.  I can’t tell you where it’s at.   But it’s in the archives somewhere.)  And then I thought to myself, “Self, what is with those people across the water?”

It would seem that there have been some scientists studying the effects on dust mites of making the bed every morning.  And thereby wrapping them up in the sheets and tucking them in “as snug as a bug in a rug.”  (Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.)  They concluded that dust mites survived better in a made bed than an unmade bed.  The obvious next thought would be if one is allergic to dust mites, then one shouldn’t make the bed.

My worry?  My husband might stumble across said study and declare a deadly allergic reaction (think bee stings, need of an Epi-pen, etc) to dust mites that heretofore has never been known.  Thus getting him out of making the bed each and every morning.  Or, Goddess forbid, the brilliant little girl I live with.

Just when you thought the world was safe.  Ha.  Now I’ve got dust mites to add to the load.

Blessings be.  (and don’t let the bedbugs bite….)

We have our very own Energizer Bunny here.  I knew it.  But I didn’t know it.  You know what I mean?

Right.

Maybe I should ‘splain myself.

Yesterday we put the life of our very old, very sweet, very tough, rescued Chocolate Labrador Buck into the hands of a very competent, very capable, very willing veterinarian. And then turned the outcome over to the Universe.  Sort of.  I did tussle with it a bit (and ended up with a migraine that is still lingering this morning for my troubles), then lit a candle, asked the Goddess to watch over our buddy and give the surgeon steady hands, and tried to let it go.  It was a back and forth all day until I could sit on the floor last night with my Buckster and hold his face in my hands.

Buck came to us in July 2009, after I saw him walking in the Fourth of July parade in Saratoga with a friend who was trying to find him a forever home.  Buck was skin and bones, had been living in an animal shelter in Casper for approximately a year, and turned his soulful, penetrating gaze on me that morning.  I fell for him with everything I had.  I called the dear husband and said we had to try.  The dear husband is a dear man for a reason and said yes.  We planned on “trying” Buck with us for the weekend.  The little toddler and I went to the shelter in Saratoga and picked him up and never took him back.  He worked his way into our hearts and has been truly a gift from the Universe.

I could go on and on about what an outstanding canine he is.  But the migraine from yesterday still  has its hold on me and the letters on the screen are starting to get fuzzy.

We had to make a decision this last week to sort of play Russian roulette.  Buck had two growths that I’ve been watching for a couple of years now.  They went berserk in the last six weeks or so and we were faced with doing something to get rid of them or waiting for something more disastrous to happen.  We found a competent, caring, compassionate veterinarian (aren’t we all???) who agreed to try.

And who succeeded.  Buck is home safe and sound.  The aftercare will prove to be the key I am sure.  It always is the hardest part.  He abhors the plastic cone.  And why wouldn’t he?  Would you want to wear that around 24/7?  So I took it off about midnight and laid down on the floor with him, ready to grab his leg if he started to scratch at his eye.  He slept well.   Me?  Not so much.

But he’s alive.  And home.  So a few sleepless nights?  A migraine?  Small potatoes for some more earthly time with this magnificent soul.  For those of you who don’t know Buck I apologize for you never meeting.  For those of you who do know Buck, consider yourselves lucky to be acquainted with a truly, truly remarkable spiritual being having a canine experience.

I am grateful to the Universe this beautiful September morn.

Blessings be.

Yes.  Believe it or not.   President Obama (the Man) is at it again.  Can you believe the nerve of the guy???

He changed a name.  Back to what it was a LONG time ago.  Before good ol’ white men got involved.

Whoa.  Let me back up in case you don’t know the back story.

Well, only a little backing up here, because the day is young, I have a bazillion and one things to do and honestly, I think I am finally sick of the political histrionics that makes up this great country.

So.  Here’s what went down.  There’s a little mountain up yonder in the Far North.  You might have heard of it.  The peoples that inhabited the place, oh, you know, like THOUSANDS of years ago, called it “Denali.”  Which meant “the high one.”  Someone, a white man no less, who wanted to support President McKinley in his campaign, decided, just decided, to rename the mountain “McKinley.”  And so it was.  Only thing?  President McKinley never even went to Alaska.  Not once.  Not ever.  Never had anything to do with Alaska.  Alaska wasn’t even a state until 1950.  Or was it 1951?  Sorry, not going to take the time to fact check that right now.  Point being…President McKinley had NOTHING to do with Alaska, or Denali, or whatever.  So why in all that is holy is Ohio all hot and bothered that the name of the mountain reverted back to what it was in the first place?????

WHAT EVS!

Give it up.  Give me a break Ohio.  Get over yourselves.  Let it be.  Let it go.  Move on.  Get your own damned mountain and then you can name it whatever the heck you want.  Good flipping grief.

We have so many other things that need our attention.

Such as this:

Donald Trump, in a hypothetical match-up, would beat Kanye West for president. (Google survey of 500 participants, in case you were wondering.)  Now that’s really something, isn’t it?

Or this:

As of Sunday afternoon, there were no less than three (3) Category 4 Hurricanes lined up in a row just to the west of Hawaii.  No kidding.  By Sunday night two of them had been downgraded to Category 3, and I haven’t checked lately to see what happened to them. But the satellite picture was pretty impressive.  And makes one wonder about a changing climate, eh?

And then there is this compilation of little gems uttered by Republican “leaders” idjits in the month of August.  (Source: http://www.dailykos.com)

It’s possible that The Bible has legal authority over the Supreme Court. (Ben Carson)

It’s okay to be a misogynist and bash another misogynist without feeling a twinge of hypocrisy. (Erick Erickson)

Black lives are not among the “things” that matter (Scott Walker)

Immigrants should be tracked like FedEx packages, which presumably means with bar codes. (Chris Christie)

Poor people are poor only because they don’t work as hard as rich people.  (Rand Paul)

The Iraq war was a “pretty good deal” (Jeb Bush)

The only thing a woman knows is how to be a slut. (Perryville, Missouri School Board member Mark Gremaud)

Parents need to stop getting so gosh-darn emotional when their children are murdered. (The NRA)

We need a wall across the U.S.-Canada border, presumably including the 1,538-mile Alaska-Canada border. (Scott Walker)

The best way to deal with undocumented workers is to enslave them. (WHO radio host Jan Mickelson)

Restrictions on lead paint in public housing should be loosened because mothers are going to deliberately lead-poison their kids by making them suck on fishing weights to get free housing anyway. (Kenneth C. Holt)

Mind-boggling, gob-smackingly, asinine idiocy.

And with that, I’m off to enjoy my day as now I’m grumpy and need to get happy.

Sunshine, aspen leaves starting to turn, a bluish sky (slightly hazy still), a crisp breeze, the tang of fall.  It’s all good.  Life is good.

Blessings be.

So now Jeb! thinks the problems of immigration are more due to “Asians,” not Latin Americans (or Mexicans).  Honestly, I’m not sure anymore what the PC term is when referring to people of a certain descent.  Is it Mexican?  Latino?  Hispanic?  My ignorance is not meant to offend, so if I do, please forgive.

But I would think people of Asian descent might be mightily offended by Jeb! making the statement that “anchor babies are more a problem due to Asians.”

That man can not seem to keep both feet out of his mouth.  OK.  Now try to dig yourself out of that hole Jeb!.

And in another move that might offend people of Asian descent, Koch-baby Walker (sorry, I guess I should be more respectful…Governor Scott Walker) has called on President Obama to cancel the State Visit of the President of China because their economy is dragging down our stock market.

Yes.  That is correct.  He said that.  That makes good diplomatic sense doesn’t it?  Just more of the “I’m a spoiled brat and I’m going to take my ball and go home” toddler histrionics that are the trademark of the Republican party.  Get a grip Guv.  Heads of State don’t control the economy.  And committing diplomatic suicide is not the way U.S. Presidents should address the problems of the world.  Could you imagine other foreign heads of state denying the President of the United States an official visit because our economy tanked in 2008…which then affected the world economy…ALL because of the banks HERE?????  Can you imagine the outrage that would have ensued here?

Methinks the Republican Clown Car riders should start thinking before opening their mouths.

I’m just saying.

As an aside, and this was not prompted by me on any part.  In fact, I don’t even think we were talking about politics at all.  (I know, right?)  I don’t even think I had the radio on in the car.  Ah.  Now I remember what started it.  We were discussing the correct way to pronounce “laboratory.”  We’re big (well, I am) on correct pronunciation around here.  Speaking correctly, enunciating, pronouncing each syllable, etc.  So…she said laboratory for some reason and I, ever so gently, corrected the pronunciation.   A conversation then ensued about how the proper pronunciation of laboratory makes it sound English in a way.  Which then prompted her (that would be the 8 year old darling I live with) to comment that we definitely don’t want to sound English, goddess forbid.  (No offense to the English.)  I asked why.  She replied that truthfully, she wanted people to know that she was a “pure-blood American, and not English.”  And then I asked (ever so gently) if there was really such a thing as a “pure-blood American?”  And she said (and I’m totally serious–this is what she said),”Well.  There isn’t exactly a ‘pure-blood American’ because we all came from somewhere, except the Native Americans, who were already here.”

So there.  Immigration problem solved.  Everybody in America (except the pure-blood Native Americans) immigrated here at one point.  So everyone who wants to close the borders and not allow anyone else in?  What evs.  What evs.

In other news, we’re off to enjoy one of the LAST days of summer here.  Not kidding on that.  The hummingbirds are almost gone.  GONE!  They usually stay around until mid to late September.  The robins are gone.  The aspen leaves had started to turn and then a hard freeze two weeks ago has turned many of them brown and crisp.  The wild rose bushes and willows have started turning as well.  It’s not even September yet!!!  Holy crow.    I’m not thinking about what it all might mean.

Blessings be.

I expect a lot will be written about Jimmy Carter in the days to come.  Hopefully the days can stretch into weeks and months as he embarks on his latest “adventure.”

Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock or had your head buried in the sand or, well, I’m out of trite, hackneyed (redundancy there) phrases so I’ll stop there…suffice it to say that if you’ve not been aware, Jimmy Carter is now engaged in a battle with melanoma.  Where it started is unknown, but at present the most worrisome it seems are the spots on his brain that have shown up.

What an incredible individual.  He sat through a press conference today in which he spared no details of his diagnosis, his personal thoughts and fears about it, his strategies for dealing with it and the humility and grace which has been his hallmark for all of his public life.

I don’t care what anyone says.  I like Jimmy Carter.  President Carter that is.  I liked him in 1976 (when I was 9 years old and Meeker Elementary School had a mock election in which then candidate Carter won, followed by the real election which he also won!!).  I liked him through the end of the 70’s even when there were no Christmas lights to drive about and see due to the energy shortage.  I became more interested in my teenage life than in politics so it’s not that I stopped liking him through the 1980’s.  I just had more important things to ruminate on (do I really need to tell you what those were??).

But then I started liking President Carter again once I got past the angst of those teenage years and began my life as a young adult.  I admired his work abroad–free and fair elections worldwide, advocating for peace in the Middle East, working tirelessly at eradication of disease.  I marveled at his energy working with Habitat for Humanity.  I was humbled by his humility.  He had to have known what people said about him.  He had to have heard the jeers and taunts still bandied about today by those in the political arena.  And yet he simply got to work doing what he could to make the world a better place in some way or another.

The man is a study in grace.  Humility.  Service.  We would do well to emulate his very being.

And now, at the end of his life, to be faced with yet one more challenge, to be able to do so with such peace and calm and serenity is truly inspiring.

This world needs more Jimmy Carters.  We always have.  We always will.

Slainte President Carter.  I raise a glass to you and wish you well in your fight.  May your way be peaceful.  May you feel moments of grace.  May you someday understand there are so many who truly believe in you and what you have set out to do with your life, who are in awe of your accomplishments, of your humility.  May you be comforted by knowing how much good you have put out into the world and may that good come back to you many times over.

You are truly a man like no other.  Blessings be on you and yours.

Seriously.  I’m not kidding.  Did you know tortoises can be joyful?

I didn’t.

I had no idea.

Until I read an article this morning.

And then my eyes were opened to the miracles of the animal kingdom.

That happens sometimes.  Not miracles in the animal kingdom (which are plentiful to be sure), but more that my eyes were opened.  Sometimes I know it seems that I walk along this path of life with blinders on, oblivious to the goings-on and shenanigans around me, too caught up in my own little world.  A little world that seems to revolve around a little someone who is growing exponentially and who, if I did not pay close attention to each and every second of each and every day, would appear to sprout in front of me and morph into an adult before I knew it.

Whew, did I ever digress this morning.

Let me see if I can get back on track.  Eyes being opened.  Joyful tortoises.  Oh yes.  Got it.

The quote goes something like this (that I read), and see if you can guess who uttered it.

“I’m the tortoise in the race–but I’m a joyful tortoise.”

Three guesses, and really, honestly, the first two shouldn’t count.  But I’ll let you take them if you must.

No, not Rick Perry.  Pretty much the CW is that he’s done for.  Someone already put a fork in him and decided, despite the spiffy new Clark Kent-ian, “I’m-really-smart-and-intellecutal-and-would-never-utter-OOPS-on-the-primetime-stage” glasses, he’s just not cutting the mustard.

And no, not The Donald, who has utterly destroyed the integrity of the Republican Party (now THAT’s something you don’t see often…the words “integrity” and the “Republican Party” in the same sentence…).

OK.  There’s your two guesses.  And I so gave it away when I brought up members of the GOP Clown Car.  Cause now you should be going through the Rolodex of Contenders in your mind–flipping through the myriad names–trying to alight on the one that could best be compared to a reptile.  Amphibian?

Oh ok.  I’ll give.

Jeb!

(Notice the exclamation point?  Love that.  As if we’re all fooled by the deletion of the accursed last name and the insertion of the PUNCTUATION mark.  What evs.)

Yep.  Good ol’ Jebbie compared himself to a tortoise.  BUT.  Not just a tried and true, stick-in-the-mud, boring old tortoise.  No way Jose.  He’s a JOYFUL tortoise.

Well now.  That should get him some percentage points in the polls.

You know, the polls that are being, well, polled, approximately 15 months before the election.  The polls that have The Donald in the lead and poor ol’ Jebbie not even making double digits.  That’s gotta hurt.  But maybe not.  He’s joyful.

Ugh.  A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was going through a very painful time in my life.  Joy was nowhere to be seen.  And anyone who used the word was anathema to me.  (This is in all seriousness, no snark now.)  I worked very, very hard to heal.  And I had a dear friend who bombarded me with “JOY” at every turn, in little ways that I didn’t fully appreciate until much later.  They were subtle notices and now, looking back, I can see that the Universe was working for good in my life.  For that, and for my friend who planted the seeds, I will always be grateful.  Eventually, color came back into my life.  The grays and blacks turned to bold slashes of yellow and purple, red and blue.  My life became…JOYFUL.  And I was able to use the word myself–in relation to myself.

Ironically, today, in my idyllic home, I am surrounded by literally hundreds of hummingbirds.  The hummingbird is considered by some Native Americans to contain the medicine of JOY.  My friend from long ago knew this and the hummingbird wind chime she gifted me with back then hangs today on my porch, its soothing sounds yet one more reminder of the very long journey I have made.

JOY is a very special word that holds profound meaning for me.  I am truly blessed to be able to say that I feel JOY in my heart.  It is a warm, fluttery feeling in the middle of my chest that sort of bubbles up and out.  (I spent a long time working with a homeopath during a very difficult time in my life.  She taught me how to identify the physical part of my feelings.)  Back to my JOY.  It is a delicious feeling that makes me giddy.  I can feel it course up through me and want desperately to be released, almost as if I could toss it out into the world and bless others with it.  Maybe that’s why the hummingbirds seem to sing to my soul.  They zing around, buzzing and chirping and acting as if they have not a care in the world.  Music to my ears.

And now, the word that makes me warm and fuzzy inside has been co-opted.  I’m not happy about sharing my JOY with Jeb!.  (Notice the exclamation point please.)

He can be a tortoise.   But he can’t be a JOYFUL tortoise.   He could be a HAPPY tortoise.  That would be fine.  Or a SMILING tortoise.  Or even a BLISSFUL tortoise.

But please Jeb!, don’t take my JOY.

It went something like this (and please…no judgin’):

Me:  Hi honey…sorry to bother you right now (thinking to myself:  Self, he is so busy he doesn’t have time to talk about ANYTHING besides hay right now.  You know this.  Why are you bothering him??)

Him:  Yes dear.  (PAUSE.)  I’m sort of busy right now.

Me:  I know.  I’m sorry.  It’s just that there is this calf out there who sounds really upset.  I mean, REALLY, upset.  He’s practically running up and down the fence line…

Him:  He’s fine.

Me:  But I don’t think so.  He’s sounding more and more upset.  Almost screeching really.  Do you want to try to listen?

Him:  HONEY!  He’s fine.  Did I mention I’m sort of busy right now?  As in, trying to fight a fire.

Me:  WHAT?  A fire?  Why didn’t you say so?  Is it bad?  Are you alone? Where is it?  What started it?  Is it our hay????

Him:  HONEY!!!  The firefighters are here, and guys from the ranch.  It’s just one hay bale, well, two actually, but that’s all.  It’s ok.  Lightning started it.  Got 4 steer too.

Me:  See! That’s what I’m worried about.  What if the little guy’s momma got hit by lightning?  Shouldn’t I go help him find her?

Him:  (EXASPERATED sigh heard…followed by a slight pause) NO.  Do not go out there.  He will be fine.  His momma’s fine.  (Myself says to myself: how in the heck does he know this?)  Leave him alone.  This is interfering with nature, right?

Me:  So I guess you don’t want to hear how I just saved the bee from the spider web outside our bedroom window?

Him: WHAT?  static…pause…static…what sounded like “what the bleep?”…static…

Me:  I just felt bad for him, stuck there, and sort of fluttering his wings pathetically.

Him:  (Eye roll loud enough to be heard through the telephone line.)

Me:  So I guess you also don’t want to hear about the hummingbird I’m worried about that can’t seem to figure out where to drink from?  I’ve been watching him for a couple of days now.  He’s all scruffy looking and keeps trying to drink from all over the feeder, just not where he’s supposed to.  I was thinking I might be able to catch him and then put his beak in the right spot.  What do you think?

Him:  (LONG pause…followed by almost inaudible sigh.)  Honey.  You have heard of something called “natural selection” right?  Do you really think the world needs to have a hummingbird’s genes out there that can’t figure out how to drink from a feeder?  Survival of the fittest and all that.  NOW…did I mention that I was sort of busy fighting a fire?  I’ve got to go.

Me:  Yeah, fine, ok.

FIVE MINUTES LATER

Me:  Honey?  It’s me again.

Him:  Yes dear?  Still fighting the fire here.

Me:  Well I just wanted to tell you that the little guy found his momma.  And it was SO cute. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a calf run that fast.  It was just like in the movies when they show two people running toward each other on the beach with arms outstretched, SO happy to see each other.  Well, the momma cow wasn’t running.  And actually, she didn’t sound so happy either, now that I mention it.  She was standing still, up there on top of the hill, and she actually sounded sort of peeved.  But he sure was happy.  So isn’t that great?  I just thought you might like to know he’s ok.  And she’s ok.  And it’s all ok here.  Well, except for the scruffy hummingbird.

Him:  (REALLY long pause.)

Me:  Honey?

Him:  Yes dear.  That’s great.  Can I go finish fighting the fire?

(End of transcript.)

Sheesh.  Priorities, eh?  Mommy love or haystack fires?

Got to go stick some needles in a dear canine friend.  I LOVE this hat I get to wear only ever so occasionally (veterinary acupuncturist!!).

Blessings be.

I must admit, I wasn’t as dashing in my delivery.  It was more like…”WHAT IN THE SAM HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING???????”

And then…”AAGGHHHHHHHHHHHH…DON’T TOUCH ME!!!!!!!!”

And then…”FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!  As if I don’t have enough to do today.”

I finally stopped yelling.  And then took a breath.  And started laughing.

Because, truth be told, the little guy is SUCH a love.  Remember, his name is Angus, after the Celtic/Irish God of Love Aengus.  And he just sort of smiled at me.  (He does smile.  Especially when he’s saying “good morning” to me, as if he hasn’t seen me in days and days and days, instead of like, eight hours.  Anyway, he wraps a foreleg around my leg and looks up at me and bares his teeth in a smile.  I knew another Springer who did that all the time.  Her name was Judy.  She was a love too.  But I digress.)

Our little guy just discovered the joys of summer.  Fresh, green, wet, stinky cow poop.  Cow dung.  Cow patties.  Cow manure.  Bovine feces.  Fresh and thick and just made for adorning oneself in.

There goes the “aaaggghhhhhh” again.  Things that make me insane, nuts0, bat-guano-crazy, off-my-rocker mad.

When he finally listened to my whistle, and popped his cute little head up over the sage brush down yonder, I thought to myself, “Self, you need to work on the whole ‘whistle and he will come’ thingy.”  He realized I meant business and started bounding happily back across the field.  I thought he looked a tad bit odd.  His ears were flapping, like they always do when he streaks across the pasture, his mouth was open and his tongue was hanging out, as if to announce to the world how incredibly happy and good his life is.  But something just looked off.  It almost looked as if he was wearing a big, brown collar (sort of a tribute to Queen Elizabeth if you will).  I said to myself, “Self, that looks odd.  What is he wearing?”

Then he got closer and I could see that the “collar” extended down his back!  And, in reality, was not a collar, but a thick, wet, greenish, goopyish layer of cow shit.  (Sorry, had to use the profanity finally.)  All of a sudden, seemingly simultaneously, the synapses did what synapses do…and my brain coalesced around one, bright, burning, so irritating thought: “Self, you now have to give that dog a bath.  He done gone and rolled in some mighty fierce-looking cow dung.”

Aaaaghhhhhhh…………………..

So, me, being as intrepid (and yes, sometimes dashing, if I do say so myself) as good ol’ Han Solo, set off to complete the task at hand.

I fired off instructions to my aide-de-camp (who unfortunately did not get her picture taken, but was none-the-less indispensable to the exercise) who set about collecting the necessary accoutrements in record time.

And then the fun began.  Angus, for all of his adorable, lovingness, does not like 1)being restrained and 2)being washed.

I tried to explain to him, in my best translation of canine-speak, that to avoid the bone-chilling numbness of frigid well-water, one would be wise to steer clear of the squishy, olfactory-stimulating, green stuff.  I think he pretended not to hear me.

And then I simply couldn’t take anymore.  Plus, he was shivering.  (It is VERY cold by the time you get down a bit into the well.  See much earlier posts about the things I learned…as in, trying to fill up a child’s inflatable swimming pool with well water at almost 9000 feet of elevation will most assuredly bring on hypothermia and frostbite.)

Anyway.  See the finished product.

Not perfect.  But close.

Such an adorable, happy little guy.  He’s lucky he’s so cute.

I feel as if I’ve written this post before.  Or some version of it.  Cue the 2012 elections maybe?  The 2012 GOP primary maybe?

I don’t know.  And I honestly don’t feel like doing the research to find out.  It’s VERY late and I need some zzzzzzz’s.

But here’s what’s got me troubled tonight.

Donald Trump is now polling in first place for the GOP nomination.  Good ol’ Jebbie is a distant second.

Donald Trump.

You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.

But no.  It’s really true.  This week’s Economist/YouGov poll has him in the Numero Uno spot.  To be sure, with only 15% of those polled giving their 2 cents worth.  But still.  The Donald is actually in the running.

This should be some fun debating on the Faux News channel in a few weeks.  They made a big deal out of only allowing the top ten candidates to participate in their little fun-fest.  Do you think they counted on The Donald being one of them?

I think the most troubling is what does this say about America?

And now, because I’m exhausted and the neurons are not synapsing, I’m simply going to stop discussing this ridiculousness.

I’ll attempt to catch you up on the happenings up here in the soggy, soggy hinterland.  Lots to ruminate on.

Vaya con dios mis amigos.

Breaking news folks.

Bubble wrap is not, I repeat NOT, going away.

You know the stuff.  The plastic packing material with the “bubbles” in various sizes that when popped create a resounding noise and a satisfaction like no other.  Well, maybe I should rethink that last description.  I can think of many, many things that offer satisfaction.  More even than popping bubble wrap bubbles.  Like the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.  Like the hint of the sun as it rises over yonder hills.  The glint of same sun on newly fallen snow, on a crisp, cold winter day in which your breath hangs in the air.

Man I digress.

Back to bubble wrap.

I guess it was about to go away.  But luckily, enough people found out (not yours truly) and    protested and voila!  Bubble wrap is here to stay.

Thank goodness.  I really am not sure how this world would function without bubble wrap.

And I really do not know how these things get posted on reputable news radio programs.  Not right-wing talk radio.  Are you out of your mind?  Do you really think I’d last more than a millisecond listening to that drivel?  Good grief, talk about needing to bleach your brain.

I’ll let you guess what I, little old tree-huggin’, Obama-lovin’, feminist,  former-vegetarian-who-saw-the-light me, listens to.  🙂

Adios mis amigos/amigas.  Vaya con dios.