Saturday, January 31, 2009


Since the last day of January was beautiful here and Big Bore had the day off work, we decided to take off across the prairie and drive up to Council Grove to see my old friend Norma, the Hippie Goddess, and to purchase some wares at her shop.

The first three pictures were taken about 20-25 miles northwest of Eureka at an area called Teterville, an abandoned oilfield community of years gone by.

The only other living beings we encountered in the Flint Hills were these cattle and the geese and ducks below that were testing the icy waters at a lake in Chase County.

The frigid winter water is for the birds, in more ways than one. Onward to February.....

Friday, January 30, 2009


Back on January 14 I wrote about bringing Mama Bore’s cat Annie to Casa de la Flaming Bore since Mom is recuperating from back surgery and is no longer living at home. Big Bore and I had agreed to be “foster parents” under the condition that Annie continue to be an outdoor cat. I had my doubts she’d stay with us, but I was more than willing to give it a try.

Well, since Annie escaped from our garage the first night here, I haven’t seen her, I’m sorry to say. Big Bore says he’s made some Annie Sightings, but they aren’t definite because he couldn’t tell if the cat he’s been seeing is wearing a red collar like our wayward child.

Every time I see Mom, she asks about Annie, of course, and every time I respond the same way: by lying!!!! I absolutely hate to lie!! Even the little white types. I keep telling myself that I’m fibbing for a good cause, though. Maybe God will not consider this a transgression???

In the meantime, I keep putting out food on the porch. It’s being eaten but I’ve yet to discover the sneaky diner. Perhaps I need to put out 24-hour surveillance. I’ve put a “Lost” ad in the local paper and contacted the animal control office. Oh, and I’ve also talked to Mom’s mail carrier, a friend of mine, who knows Annie quite well. Should she hitchhike back to her home in Fredonia, he’s going to let me know.

So, if anyone in the blogging world sees a light gray tabby cat trying to thumb a ride along US 400, please notify me immediately. I’m still hoping her nine lives are keeping her well.

Thursday, January 29, 2009


Hats off to Kansas! Today marks the 148th birthday of our fair state, give or take a year or two. After a few years, who keeps counting. Right? So, what better way to celebrate than digging out a picture of the Flaming Bore, far left, with long-time sidekicks Cheryl Jean and Nancy Sue, posing as 6-year-old sunflowers! We gals were part of the blooming crew seated inside a grade school Homecoming float in 1955. Did we ever think we were special, getting to shake our petals and wave to the crowd. It was much better than having to dress up as a herd of hairy buffalo, forced to snort and roam the streets of Fredonia. Our teachers had such presence of mind!

….which reminds me of the time I encountered a congregation of buffalo when touring Custer State Park, South Dakota, on the back of a motorcycle. Two creatures near the roadside were riled at each other, so a park ranger had stopped traffic for safety purposes. My partner wasn’t too thrilled about my insistence upon taking off with the camera for some up closer and more personal pictures of the battling buffs, but I made sure I was back on board when they decided to cross the road. Eventually, they headed up a hill and an “all clear” sign prompted motorists on their way again. The remainder of the herd didn’t seem phased by the parade of people that passed by them. Alas, not a single buffalo waved back at me.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009


Here’s a shot of my make believe friends having a patio party yesterday. I tried getting in a festive mood and joining them, but the backyard just didn’t have the allure that it usually has in warmer weather.

I’d planned to travel to Neodesha to see Mom, but after one mile on icy Highway 54 the car and I decided to turn around and creep back home. The remainder of the day was spent eating Big Bore’s lasagna and then hibernating until American Idiot came on TV. It was a Lost Tuesday.

It's 6 AM and two friggin' degrees outside. I think today we may be in for an encore.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


Yesterday, I received this hilarious card from Literary Diva, which was made all the more hilarious when Big Bore saw it and thought the picture was of the Diva herself and her own cat.

“Man, she has one big-ass cat!”

It’s just a card of someone else, Goober!”

“Oh. Well, it’s still a big cat.”

I don’t know if he read the message that went along with the picture, but I do know that he would readily agree with it. Our cats walk all over him, literally, and he just lets ‘em have at it. He even shares his food with them, right from his plate. It’s no wonder that they much prefer hanging out with him over me…the evil person who is always cleaning out ears and checking for UFOs in their coats.

The other day I overheard him in the bedroom warbling his own version of Joe Cocker’s, “You Are So Beautiful” to Critter, who was sprawled out on her favorite corner of the bed, purring up a storm, as he was preparing to go to work.

“You are so cuddable, Kit-teeeee,” he crooned.

I interrupted. “You are a goofball!”

He smiled back at me. Maybe I should just take a word of advice from the card, relax, and get used to it.

Monday, January 26, 2009


Periodically, I receive emails that are fun little personal surveys. One of the recent questions on several of them has been: "Favorite place" or "Place you'd rather be." I always type in: "Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado," and the above picture explains why.

I captured this view with my digital camera in September, 2006, when Big Bore and I were stopped along Trail Ridge Road on a crispy fall afternoon. I've been visiting RMNP since I was in college and never grow tired of the (dare I say "amazing?") vistas around each hairpin turn.

After I took this picture, I climbed up a big rock nearby, sat down, and soaked in the view before me. It was one of those "forever moments" we've all probably had, when we silently give our appreciation for being alive and able to bear witness to the beauty in the world.

I've recently converted this picture into the screen saver on my computer. Now, every time I sit down to read and write, my mind is taken away from the dismal, leafless winter that is blowing around outside my windows and brought back to that carefree Colorado day.

Saturday, January 24, 2009


When I returned home yesterday from a downer of a visit with Mom at the nursing home, Big Bore was ready to cheer me up and bring a smile back to my face.

“I’ve been thinking all day what song I would perform if I was auditioning for American Idol,” he said, not long after I shook off my coat.

Now, if you ever read this blog, you know that BB hates this show and constantly taunts me with the remote when I‘m watching it, changing channels in mid-screech.

“Well, take it away. Let’s hear it,” I said, crashing onto the sofa.

I was expecting something from Pink Floyd or possibly Hank Williams, two of his favorites, so I was quite taken by surprise when he starts singing:

“Green Acres is the place for me.
Farm livin’ is the life for me.
Land spreadin’ out so far and wide
Keep Manhattan, just give me the countryside….”

Yes, using his best, big, bass voice, Big Bore ripped into a roaring rendition of the theme song from the TV oldie, Green Acres. He knew every single ridiculous word of it….

“….New York is where I’d rather stay
I get allergic smelling hay
I just adore a penthouse view
Dah-ling I love you
But give me Park Avenue….”

Sweeping arm gestures and goofy facial expressions accompanied his perfect lyrics, and he even provided his own orchestral accompaniment….

“….Da-da-da-da-dum. The chores.
Da-da-da-da-dum. The stores.
Da-da-da-da-dum. Fresh air.
Da-da-da-da-dum. Times Square….”

Scary. Very scary.

“….You are my wife.
Good-bye city life.
Green Acres we are there!”

Once he was done, I did my fake British accent a’la Judge Simon and turned to one of the cats.

“Crit-tah, I do believe he has gone totally mad! That was the worst Green Acres I’ve ever heard!”

“Well, I can do better. Let me try it again,” he anxiously responded. He then started over, this time even lower and with a vibrato added.

“Stop! Stop! You had your chance! There are no do-overs on American Idiot!”

Big Bore doesn’t have to enter any contests. He’s certainly not idol material, but, all flaws aside, he’s a winner when it comes to making me feel a little bit better.

Friday, January 23, 2009


Here’s me pretending to be a Brownie Scout back in 4th grade. I obviously wasn’t working towards a merit badge in personal appearance the day this picture was taken. The hair and teeth are quite a fright, if you ask me. It looks like I’ve just come in from a windy grade school recess of “Run, Horse, Run.”

The reason I dare to publish this picture is to celebrate the start of the annual cookie sales for the Girl Scouts of America. Big Bore and I were hit up on opening day, Sunday, by three little gals who are sisters. Well, we didn’t dare make one or two feel left out, so, of course, we felt obligated to purchase from all of them. No sense being responsible for any sibling inferiority complexes later in life.

Now, I’ve written in this blog before that I absolutely HATED having to sell Girl Scout cookies in my heyday. I had no confidence at all and, more often than not, got rejected at many a front door. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies? They’re only 50 cents a box.” My sales pitch rarely worked, and I’d end up having to beg Mama Bore to buy a good portion of the amount I’d signed up to sell. I think the mouthful of braces must have scared off most potential buyers. Perhaps they couldn’t even understand what I was saying.

Because of the awful trauma I suffered as a Brownie, I have made it my life’s mission NOT to lower the self-esteem of any good scout. So, when these little gals showed up at Casa de la Flaming Bore a few days ago, I was ready with my spiel:


ME: “Oh, fantastic! You’re here at last! I read about the cookie sales starting today and I was so in hopes someone would stop by this afternoon! Yay!!!”

How’s that for a start? They had to say nothing. Big Bore and I grabbed their sales sheets, and it was smooth sailing. The easiest $22.50 they could ever hope to make. And, if anymore girls show up on the porch, you can bet your cookie crumbs that they won’t leave unhappy. After all--Big Bore, Eagle Scout, circa 1970, has pledged that it is his duty to eat as many chocolate thin mint cookies as I can possibly buy!

Thursday, January 22, 2009


My first official date, where a guy actually called in advance, came to my house to pick me up, took me somewhere, and brought me back home, was right before I started 7th grade. I was barely twelve years old, and my date, Jimmy Mac, was still eleven. He invited me to the Elks Club Back-to-School Dance in Independence--high society stuff.

Now, I don’t know why Jimmy Mac asked me out, because it wasn’t like we’d been making googly eyes at each other at the swimming pool all summer. He must have been impressed with my spelling skills or the fact that I was a fast runner. Truth be known, I was not likely his first choice…or second, or third. I was probably just the only girl who’d said, “Yes” to the offer. I’d known Jimmy Mac since first grade, and we’d played many a rousing game of kick-the-can together in the intervening years, so he was a safe bet.

We doubled with an older couple, freshmen, and since no one was legal to drive and Independence was too far away for bicycles, one of the dads drove us to the dance. Now, normally, I was a loud mouth, but I recall pretty much having the personality of a turnip during the ride there. I was too self-conscious…even though I looked spectacular in my navy blue gathered skirt, navy penny loafers, white blouse, owl pins on the collar edges, and trademark ponytail…swish, swish.

The Elks Club was definitely a cut above Fredonia’s Teentown, so I was impressed. The party room was darker, too. Although we danced a lot, I can recall being somewhat disappointed because we were the only kids there from Fredonia and I didn’t know anyone else. There were no opportunities to dash off with my girlfriends and gossip in the restroom for an hour or so. I had to concentrate on spending the entire night trying to make intelligent conversation with Jimmy Mac!

Well, nothing catastrophic happened on the date. I didn’t spill cola all over myself, or drip sweat down my armpits, or step on Jimmy Mac’s feet with my dainty size 10s. So, I won’t embellish with any nonsense that he could sue me over. He got Cinderella home on time and spared me the uncomfortable fumbling of a good night kiss. A love connection was not made; we never had another date together. In fact, I think it was two years or more before I even had another official date with anyone! Oh, well. We girls are allowed to have our dry spells. Right?

Wednesday, January 21, 2009


Okay--so I vegged out in front of the TV and watched the inauguration coverage yesterday. It was much better than battling the DC crowds and enduring the freezing temperatures. Plus, I could mute Aretha Franklin’s screeching of “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” before my new windows busted from the strain. (Big Bore was in the kitchen slaving over a hot stove when she started singing, and he yelled, “What the hell is going on in there?”) Bad. Really bad. She no longer gets any R-E-S-P-E-C-T from this music critic. Plus, her giant silver hair bow cap was a fashion fright.

The singing was a lot better at the inaugural balls we watched last night. Big Bore and I, dressed in our fanciest sweats, pulled ourselves up from our easy chairs at one point, and we danced a bit while we hummed “Hail to the Chief.” We kept hoping that Barack and Michelle would join us in a little “bump and grind” just to liven up their dance moves and take their catch phrase, “Yes, we can!” to another level…but, alas, all their body parts followed formal protocol. Bummer. I hope they aren’t as tired as I am today. All that pomp and circumstance wore me out!

Barack says he’s going to get right to work this morning on running the country; no rest for the weary. We have a lot in common. I’m gonna go take a look at the all the dirty dishes left in the kitchen sink yesterday while I was watching him on TV for fifteen hours and think about washing them. Courage!

Monday, January 19, 2009


Over the weekend I attended the "2nd Annual FHS Class of 1967 Saturday Before Martin Luther King Day Birthday Party." We had three January Birthday Babies in attendance to observe #60...fellow cat kook Judy, 9th Street Neighbor Rick, and Conlee, who blew in all the way from suburbia Detroit…mainly to attend his mother’s 90th birthday bash. But the most notable attendee of all was our class virgin, Kayle, pictured above.

Now, you might wonder why this mother of two and grandmother of one is considered a virgin. Well, that’s because last Saturday was (drum roll, please) her first time to step foot into the infamous Altoona Prairie Nut Hut (aka: A and B Tavern and the Mountain Oyster Shack in a few past lives) I don’t know why the heck she never made it to the Hut when she was in high school. She must have been studying at a convent every weekend. ;)

Well, anyway, Kayle decided to take the plunge before turning 60, live dangerously, and walk into the Nut Hut, but do you think she’d order any mountain oysters? No way! “I’m remaining a Nut Virgin!” she announced proudly, chomping on a (gasp!) hamburger. Why, the rest of us, horrified, came this close to taking a vote to impeach her from our class and excommunicate her from our table.

No amount of coercion would convince our Kayle to give in and go all the way with a bite of prairie nut. I even saved a morsel from my sandwich (large, of course) hoping she would change her mind, but she held steadfast to her high taste bud standards and remained chaste. The rest of us “nut sluts” gorged ourselves on hot fried mountain oysters drenched in yummy barbecue sauce. Mmmmm, oh, so good!

In between bites, there were plenty of laughs to go around the table. Teentown capers, old summer jobs gone wild, and recollections of Junior-Senior Prom pity dates were on the agenda.
By the end of dinner, our buddy Windy made us all swear that we’d never repeat any of this nonsense to his teen-aged son who apparently has been (mis)led to believe that his ol’ dad spent his own teen years wearing a halo, singing in the church choir, and doing good deeds for little old ladies.

When Kayle gets back home to Oklahoma, I suspect she’ll have plenty of crazy stories to tell her husband, Ron, who was not able to accompany her into un-chartered territory Saturday night but trusted her, nonetheless, to keep her virginity in tact. And, if he asks her if she had a fun time at the get-together, I suspect she’ll respond, “Oh, I simply had a ball!” --Well, maybe not in those exact words!

Kayle, you nutty kid, we’ll get you next time!

Saturday, January 17, 2009


Last night Big Bore and I stopped in at the El Dorado Burger King for a quickie. He’s a Whopper Boy, while I’m partial to the grilled chicken. I don’t like what BK puts on it, though, (mayo, wilty lettuce, and tomato) so I always say this: “Grilled chicken sandwich with nothing on it, then give me a container of honey mustard on the side.” I mean, afterall, this is the restaurant that touts: “Have it your way.” Right?

BK is not known for its speed, but that’s all right. Big Bore and I slurped our water for 5-10 minutes, then the order arrived. But the little pack of honey mustard wasn’t on the tray, so I went back to the counter and asked for one. No sweat. What aggrieved me, however, was when I took apart the sandwich to slather on the honey mustard... only to find YELLOW MUSTARD all over the chicken and bun. I HATE yellow mustard on grilled chicken!

So, I marched back to the counter to nicely ask for a new bun and a knife to scrape off the offending yellow gunk. The little counter girl was very nice about it and took the sandwich back to the cook…who promptly glared at me and tossed the entire sandwich in the trash basket!

“All I wanted was a new bun and a knife to scrape off the mustard!” I yelled, exasperated.

The cook said something about putting a new piece of chicken breast on the griller, blah, blah, blah, wait, wait, wait.

The counter girl looked bewildered.

So, I returned to my seat to watch Big Bore eat his Whopper. Five minutes pass again, I’m called up to the counter to get the second sandwich, with apologies from the counter girl, who offers me free French fries, which I decline. I just want a plain grilled chicken sandwich. Now, I’ll add the honey mustard she gave me earlier, everybody will be happy, and I'll get on with my pleasurable $3.99 dining experience.

I take the top of the bun off….and, I’ll be damned, MORE YELLOW MUSTARD!!!!! What the hell is wrong with this cook??? I can understand the mess-up the first time around….but twice??
So, I trudged back to the counter with the yellow chicken sandwich I still didn’t want and again asked for a new bun and a knife. This time, Big Bore tagged along as my sidekick, prepared to referee any trash can fights I might instigate. The manager handed me the knife before the cook could stab me with it. Third time’s a charm.

When I got back to the table, Big Bore’s Whopper was history and I wasn’t even hungry!

Friday, January 16, 2009


Much to my surprise, Big Bore blew some bucks at Christmas last month and bought the cats a present…”The Incredible Pet Nail Trimmer Pedi Paws!” This battery powered gizmo, which looks strangely like a vibrator (not that I would know anything about what they look like!), is touted as being “Fast, Easy and Gentle” in trimming the claws of one’s pets. You’ve seen ‘em advertised on TV, but he got this one at ALCO.

Now, I didn’t really see the need for this amazing hi-tech trimmer, because for years I’ve just been clipping the cats claws with human nail clippers. As long as someone holds the cats, I can get them trimmed in about five minutes, tops. No sweat. Not that much of a hassle, really. But, I didn’t question Big Bore. The Pedi Paws box claimed that using this device would “eliminate the fear and stress of nail grooming.” Maybe I’d been terrorizing my cats all these years and didn’t realize it.

So, a few weeks ago, when it was time for Fluffy, Muffin, and Critter to have a pedicure (Bits is de-clawed), I got out the Pedi Paws, read the directions, and away we went. Big Bore continued his job of holding the cats, while I operated the vibrator.

Well, it was a disaster. I kept fearing the rotating file was going to rip out Muffin’s claws altogether, so I grinded slowly….so slowly that she finally got pissed and wanted free.

“You’re being too cautious at it,” Big Bore said.

“Well, I don’t want to hurt her,” I protested. “Here, let’s trade places and you try it. It’s not that easy!”

So Big Bore took over vibrator duties while I held down Muffin. I carefully watched the going-ons, fearful that her little paw was going to get eaten up.

“Be careful. Don’t go so fast. Stop! Stop!” I couldn’t bear it.

The next thing I knew, Big Bore tossed the Pedi Paws onto the sofa and stormed out of the operating room.

“Forget it!!” he said, a bit louder than his usual tone of voice. Hmmm. “Muffin, I think I’m in trouble.”

Well, a few nights ago when Muffin was ripping into his skin while “making dough” on his belly, Big Bore said she needed her nails trimmed. I gulped, not wanting another Pedi Paws Pandemonium on my hands.

“Go get the nail clippers,” he said, without hesitation.

Ahhhh. Muffin and I were soooooo relieved.

If there’s anyone out there in cyber land who would like to buy a slightly used Pedi Paws/vibrator, let me know. I’ll be glad to negotiate!!

Thursday, January 15, 2009


Oh, the horror! I tuned in to the American Idol auditions last night. The screeching and sour notes weren’t what murdered me, though. Nor was it meeting some of the oddest looking balls on the planet. There was a problem with good ol’ Fox TV and the audio was out-of-sync with the video, so the lips of the contestants didn’t match with the lyrics being sung, for better or for worse. The effect made me dizzy and slightly nauseated, so I ended up “watching” the show by lying on the sofa and closing my eyes. Big Bore, who long ago dubbed this show American Idiot, had a better suggestion: get the “flipper dipper” (his term for the remote) and switch the $#@% channel!!

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


Little Orphan Annie is the name that Mama Bore gave to an abandoned tabby kitten that landed in her yard about five or six years ago. “I need a cat like I need a hole in my head,” she said at the time, but Mom took care of her anyway.

Well, since Mama Bore is having back surgery Friday and will then face nursing home care and, hopefully, eventually, assisted living home care, she won’t be able to return home, which leaves the cat in a lurch. When Mom asked me take Annie to the animal shelter in Independence, I couldn’t do it. She’s not strong adoption material. Heck, she’s not even strong foster care material, either, but I brought her back home with me yesterday.

Big Bore understands the dilemma and has gamely gone along with the idea. “As long as she stays outside!” We fixed her up a sleeping and feeding area in the garage. I put a red collar on her, attached our telephone number, and let her out of our cage. Who knows if she’ll stay--we haven’t seen her this morning--but we’ll give it a try and hope she doesn’t miss her real home too much. :(

Tuesday, January 13, 2009



Monday, January 12, 2009


Since Saturday was my day of rest and we went back to the hospital yesterday to see Mama Bore, today I catch up with my chores. But first---the Rock Show radio channel from Dish Network has to be turned on and turned up so I can turn on and turn up my energy level and think about housework. I usually have the tunes on from 8 AM to noon and get the tasks done in between eating breakfast and reading the newspaper. Eventually I get out of my jammies. Ah! The retired life!

I've already done the laundry, washed the dishes, hung up the clothes that draped over the quilt rack, tended to the cats (you know what that involves---ugh!), and swept the back porch floor. And it's not even 11 o'clock yet! Time for a Blog Break!

After lunch I'll take a walk to the pharmacy, hit up ALCO, and then get ready for Jeopardy and Deal or No Deal. That's when my TV program watching starts...4 PM. Round 2 of The Bachelor is on tonight, so I'll have to get ready for that, too. Ooops! I hope I have all the kitty barf I just discovered cleaned up by then. It's all over the right arm of my computer chair and under the cushion. Geesh! I gotta go!

Saturday, January 10, 2009


Mission accomplished! We hope. Big Sis, Beans, and I finally got Mama Bore to a new doctor yesterday, so Hell Week may be over. Let the healing begin. She's in the hospital on the road to recovery, although it will likely be a long and bumpy one. By the time I returned home to Casa de la Bore last night, I was exhausted but glad to know that Mom is finally in someone's capable hands rather than mine. Nurse Nancy I ain't, but at least I kept her alive.

When I left Mama Bore's bedside last night, the morphine starting to kick in, she was apologizing for "all the trouble I've caused." I told her it was a payback for all the times she'd held my hand during the two stints of medieval orthodontics work I endured as a kid.

"Oh, and don't forget the Purple Puke Episode," she said.

"That wasn't me!" I protested. "I was never much of a puker."

"Well, let me tell you about it anyway," she insisted.

"I don't want to hear about it! Tell it to your child who was the real Purple Puker!"

I have a feeling the hospital staff is going to get sick of her motherhood stories and have her patched up...stat!

Thursday, January 8, 2009


The Flaming Bore will be temporarily out of service for the next few days. Mama Bore is not doing well, lumbar compression fracture among other problems, so I’ll be taking care of her and working with Beans, Big Sis, and some doctors on figuring out a medical plan. Hope you’ll keep my little mama angel in your thoughts and prayers.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009


Case de la Flaming Bore is getting new windows today! This little old house is pushing 100 years old, so it’s long overdue. Maybe now we won’t have to rupture ourselves trying to some open windows or place pop bottles underneath the floppy ones to keep them propped up on summer days.

The only bad aspect of getting this job done, besides the fact the house is messier than usual, is that the cats are having nervous breakdowns. Bitsy, Critter, and Fluffy are in hiding. Only Muffin is out and about investigating, supervising, sitting in my lap, and enjoying the fact that the other cats aren’t around to piss her off.

One of the cats, I don’t know which is the culprit, decided to show its disapproval with these home improvement invaders by barfing up breakfast on one of their extension cords laying in the back porch. I’m hoping I got it cleaned up before the guys discovered the “present” left for them.

Hopefully normalcy will return tomorrow and we will have a house full of brand new, "A" number one, double-hung windows. No more excuses not to wash them. Damn!

Tuesday, January 6, 2009


I’m on my way to take Mama Bore to a doctor’s appointment in Pittsburg, so this will be brief:

Thanks for all the responses to yesterday’s blog. I knew there was something that bonds us together: it’s that wacko sense of humor, doggone it! Big Bore had no recollection of the sleep talking episode, but hearing all of your comments made him roll over in laughter!

Here's a challenge for those of you who will admit to watching “The Bachelor,” which started on ABC last night. Before next week’s show, guess how many times the words, “amazing” and “incredible” will be said during the hour. Aren’t there any other adjectives in the English language?

I have a new “toy” for my aching back since Critter recently busted my big blue body ball: Back Magic!! It’s a hard piece of formed plastic that stretches the lumbar area. So far, I like lying on it. It takes no effort whatsoever. In fact, it’s amazingly incredible!!

I’m outta here.

Monday, January 5, 2009


Big Bore is trying to stop smoking...again. He's back on Chantix, a nicotine-free tablet that tricks the brain into thinking a nasty cigarette is not necessary in order to get through the day. One of the side effects is that one's dreams may be a bit more bizarre than usual, but BB's dreams are always bizarre so he's not concerned about how Chantix might affect his night life.

Occasionally Big Bore will share a piece of his dream world by talking in his sleep, and last night I got a brief earful:

BB: "I promise."
Me: "What?"

BB: (louder) "I promise."
Me: "What do you promise?"

BB: "Not to eat your shoes."
Me: (chuckling at the idea of him gnawing at my Nikes) "Good grief! Why would you want to eat my shoes?"

BB: "Because you think I'm a dog...." (end of dialogue)

Now, I've got to admit he may be on to something here. How many times have I said, "Will you go fetch the newspaper for me?" or, "Roll over" when his snoring has reached more decibels than my ears can bear? Is this how the phrase, "You treat me like a dog" developed?
Well, when Big Bore comes home from work this afternoon, I plan to pat him on the head, say, "Good boy," and see what kind of reaction I get from him. Now, I might expect some panting and slobbering, but if he barks or bites at me, we'll know that the Chantix has another side effect we weren't warned about. And I'm definitely drawing the line at leg lifting!

Saturday, January 3, 2009


Big Sis got me this KU shirt and Kansas hoodie for Christmas, and I’ve practically worn them out already. Our beloved ‘Hawks are playing Tennessee later today, so you can guess what I’ll be wearing come tip-off time. I especially like the hoodie because it doesn’t show all the salsa I dripped on the left sleeve a few days ago at La Chinita’s.

Even though I graduated from Gorilla-ville, I’ve loved KU basketball since I was a kid, a loyal fan of Wilt the Stilt Chamberlain before he became a self-proclaimed sex addict. When the Hawks won the national title in 1988, I got a package of game cards of all the players and Coach Brown. It’s still wrapped in the original cellophane and is kept in one of my dresser drawers. And, of course, the 2008 NCAA championship commemorative edition of Sports Illustrated is tucked away in a safe spot.

Nowadays my excitement level during the KU games is even higher than usual since one of the players is the son of an old teaching pal. I’ve seen this kid at basketball games from the time he was a baby, so watching all 6’3” of him now scoring for the Rock Chalk boys is extra fun.

Big Bore has come to tolerate my KU basketball mania, even if he doesn’t quite understand it. As long as my overzealous cheering doesn’t result in the living room floor collapsing, he’s okay with my silliness.

So with that said, I'm going out for a pre-game walk in my new KU threads, and I end this blog with the two most important words for today: BEAT TENNESEE!!!!

Friday, January 2, 2009


On New Year’s Eve, Big Bore and I went to a water colors exhibit in the big city. Since neither of us can draw a straight line, we enjoy attending art shows and being amateur critics. We always try to agree on a Best of Show, and the picture above was our winner the other day. I forget what it's called, or who painted it, or how much money one would have to spring to own it---most of the 79 paintings in the show were in the $1,500-$3,000 range. Gulp!

We liked the details of the leaves in our champion painting, the reflection in the water, and the overall soothing look it had. It was actually something we would hang at home, had we expansive empty wall space and expansive bank accounts to match. For pure realism and clarity, our runner-up selection was this rodeo water color. Definitely not what I’d have hanging around the house, but the skill is amazing. It looks like a photograph.

When I was a kid, we budding grade school artists coveted a long black tin of watercolors that I think were called Prang Paints. They were just basic colors, maybe seven at the most. I’d mix ‘em with water that I’d put inside a jar lid and slash that paint brush onto paper like there was no tomorrow, slopping down some green at the bottom to represent grass, then slopping some blue at the top for the sky, and then dabbing in some red and yellow in the middle for flowers. Exquisite!

Sadly, Mama Bore never saved any of my water color masterpieces, probably because the paper curled up into a watery roll; however, she did keep a number of my crayon creations. This one below I call “Walking Down the Street on a Windy Day” (surprise), done when I was six years old. I think I must be the smaller of the two girls because if you examine the picture closely there is a bandage on one leg, obviously representing the aftermath of a battle with my big brother Beans.

If there is ever an art show around here that calls for really bad, old crayon works, I have a load of these babies ready to enter, including “Hanging Out Clothes,” “Happy Nostril Girl,” and “Why Doesn’t She Love Me?” a weeping boy wearing glasses. The Flaming Bore was quite a romantic, even at six. Although I’m sure the art connoisseurs of the world would be ripping at their wallets to whip out a few thou to own my precious artwork, I’d have to put “Not For Sale” on each of them. In my skewed mind, they’re priceless.

P.S. to Literary Diva: Are any of our paper doll dress designs still in existence? Just think--we could have been the next Donatella Versace. Damn!

Thursday, January 1, 2009


January 1st. Happy 2009!!! Time to list my new resolutions for the year. Drum roll, please!!

1. Get my weight back down to 135 (Maybe I’ll get the nerve to hop on the scales by October.)
2. For the house: get new windows and central air
3. Fifteen minutes minimum of morning stretching
4. Return to Colorado!!!
5. Take a class in something artsy/crafty
6. No surgery!! (Maybe the 5th year will be a charm.)
7. Read a biography or autobiography each month. (I gravitate too much toward fiction.)
8. Log my walking miles and aim for 1,000 miles in 2009; ride exercise bike 30 minutes daily
9. Throw or give away 30 things each month that I don’t need that are just taking up space
10. Get all my loose pictures put in photo albums or manila envelopes

Okay, so three of these are repeats from last year! A little bit of consistency is important to one's life.