Saturday, May 30, 2009


Ever since school got out for the summer last week, I’ve been getting phone calls from my teenaged great neph Bo wanting to know when he can schedule a visit to the Flaming Bore household. He’s bored. Ironic, isn’t it?

I plan to pick him up next weekend after I take a day trip with his younger brother to Noel, Missouri. Luke is a rock nut like his old auntie, so we’re going to tour a cave, pan for gems, and visit a fossil museum. Bo likes rock music, but not the sedimentary stuff. I’ll take him to the melodrama in Wichita, instead. He says he wants me to get him into shape for the church camping trip he’s taking to New Mexico later in June. This means we will go hiking and hiking and hiking some more at various area state parks. And I get to be the drill sergeant!

My most ambitious hiking trip ever was a trek to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The toughest part of it wasn’t the heat or the terrain but dodging the blasted donkeys (transportation for those not inclined to use their own feet) and their pit stops (aka: piss stops) along the way. My advice: stay off Bright Angel Trail. Those donkeys are devils.

The biggest problem I usually face when hiking is straying off the beaten path. I tend to get carried away looking at the scenery and forget about the trail markers. I hope Bo doesn’t mind following a leader who adheres to the Robert Frost Philosophy of Hiking: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” It's also called, "Lost."

Friday, May 29, 2009


“Let’s play hide ‘n seek, Aunt Nancy!!”

That was my great niece Maddie’s suggestion when I stopped by her house yesterday afternoon. It had been spitting rain all morning, so I told her it was too wet to go outside, but that excuse didn’t dampen her enthusiasm.

“We can play hide ‘n seek inside the house!!” she smiled.

Her good ol’ mom didn’t object, so I began to count to 20 and Maddie and her little brother Boomer dashed off into the family room to scope out a hiding spot. Each round ended pretty much the same. Either Maddie’s giggles gave her away, or Boomer would be pointing to where she was “hiding.”

We tried reversing the role, but there weren’t too many places in the room for my wild Hawaiian print shirt to stuff itself. Behind the curtains? Quick find. Lying on the sofa with pillows over my body? Easy.

“You have to cover all the way up, Aunt Nancy, so I can’t see any of your clothes,” Maddie insisted.

Hmmm. The third time out, I slid under the big floor rug, nothing showing.

“Here I come!” Maddie shouted, ran into the family room, and immediately started laughing and pulling the rug off me.

“I covered up this time! How’d you find me so fast?” I asked.

“You’re a big lump!!”

You can say that again.

Thursday, May 28, 2009


Our two baby robins flew their coop yesterday. The fat, fuzzy munchkins didn’t go far. One settled on the backyard patio, perched on a chair, and proceeded to poop up a storm ALL afternoon. After it finally got the courage to move onward and upward, I pulled latrine duty, scrubbed away the droppings, and hosed down the area. The other chirper was happier in the front yard, choosing to fertilize the garden areas. Fortunately, I left my camera in Pittsburg last week, so there are no graphic pictures to show off.

Which brings to mind my first day in high school, sophomore year, Fredonia. I was wearing a new dress, gray bodice, white and gray checked full skirt, and matching checked jacket. One chic chick. I suspect I was wearing gray penny loafers and toting a gray purse. A vision in gray matter.

The early morning routine at FHS was to gather at the wall in front of the building and talk with friends until the bell rang, at which point we had three minutes to haul ass to class. This particular special day went awry, however. As I was walking up the north front door steps, SPLAT!!! A damned bird did “Bombs Away” on the left shoulder of my new dress!! What were the odds of that happening?

What’s a girl to do? Dash to the restroom to clean it up and risk being late to class on the first day of high school? Hope that the dropping blended in with the material, which it sort of did? Take off the stylish matching jacket that was now tainted and keep it in my locker until lunch hour, when there would be more time for a turd wash? Well, I opted for the quick clean-up job and somehow made it to class on time--frazzled, a bit damp on the shoulder, but crap-free. What a relief. I’d get to save the ol’ “Bird Shit on the Dress” tardy excuse for some other day.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009


In the big city daily newspaper we get, there is a little blurb on the People in the News page that is called “Another Year Older.” It lists all the supposedly famous people who are celebrating their birthdays on the date the paper is issued. I usually check it out, just for the heck of it--in fact, I can remember checking it out decades ago when I was younger than most of the names listed.

It’s not that way anymore. And I’m finding that the older I get the fewer so-called celebrities I know. If they’re under 40, I’m usually clueless. Here’s a recent sample: actor-rapper Jerod Mixon (aka: Big Tyme) 28, rock musician Cody Hanson 27 (Is he one of the Hanson brothers? No, that’s Isaac, Zak, and Taylor. Who IS he?), country singer Billy Gillman 21(a cross between Billy Ray Cyrus and Vince Gill?), actor Cayden Boyd 15, actor Corbin Allred, 30, blah, blah, the list goes on and on of these birthday kids who are obscure in my mind. I’m a faithful subscriber/reader of Entertainment Weekly, and I still don’t know who they are.

Now, I'm privileged enough to share my own birthday with one famous person that we ALL know. Mr. Maniac Chair Jumper himself, Tom Cruise (aka: Suri’s Dad). Actually, I’m not too keen on sharing my special day with such a blow-hard. I’ve boycotted his movies ever since he was on "The Today Show" four years ago pontificating about his expert knowledge of post-partum depression and psychiatry. But I digress. I’m going to Google the unknown Cayden Boyd’s name to see what makes him an acting icon at age 15. If he’s anything less than an Academy Award winner, the little snot-nose nobody can forget receiving a birthday present from The Flaming Bore.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


Big Bore had to work on Memorial Day, second shift, so we ditched the idea of going to one of the nearby lakes and fighting the crowds. I hit up the grocery store deli for some mesquite turkey, potato salad, and baked beans. No cooking! Then we had lunch on the patio after spending the morning doing yard work. No driving! And to make it all the better, there were no pesky insects bothering us or hot sun bearing down. What a wonderful picnic! We just kicked back and enjoyed the meal and conversation. And best of all for BB, as soon as he was full, he just moseyed a few steps back into the house and crashed out for a little nap before work.

After he left, I painted coat #3 of the first section of kitchen cabinets, watched "Jeopardy," and then hit the country roads for a 6-mile jog/walk. During the final mile I was thinking about Memorial Day and a childhood friend, Monty, who was killed in Viet Nam. He is buried at Fort Gibson National Cemetery in Oklahoma, and whenever I’ve gone down to put flowers on his grave, I’ve always left a penny atop his marker. I don’t know why. I just do. Anyway, when I was doing my walking and thinking, I blurted out loud, “I wish you peace, Monty.” And I hadn’t any more gotten out his name when a quarter appeared on the road right before my feet. I decided Monty must be trying to communicate with me, but heaven must not mess with pennies.

I hope at some point yesterday you thought of special someone and had peace in your heart for that person, too.

Monday, May 25, 2009


My old high school pal Colorado Bruce recently enlightened me about a product I never knew existed--the Vibram Five-Finger!! Now, when I first heard the name, I thought it must be some new-fangled sex toy, but Bruce said I was strange and referred me to the website, legitimate, which sells specialized footwear.

Here’s part of the sales pitch: “….we recommend wearing Vibram Five-Fingers for exercise, play, and for fun. Stimulating the muscles in your feet and lower legs will not only make you stronger and healthier, it improves your balance, agility, and proprioception.” What the heck is proprioception? It doesn’t sound like something I want improved. I looked up the word in the dictionary. It has something to do with the positioning of one’s body. Well, I’ve long known that mine is out of whack, so I continued looking at the website.

Basically, the VF-F is a rubbery looking shoe/glove, with an arch and defined toes. Colorado Bruce is using it for jogging. Supposedly some Harvard hotshot helped to invent it. They look too complicated for me to strap on and take off, let alone walk around in. And they also look like they’d make my feet sweaty. I don’t like my toes having hot flashes. If I want to “experience that carefree feeling of being barefooted,” heck, I’ll just save myself 70 bucks and go barefooted!!

Saturday, May 23, 2009


Every day this week I’ve moseyed out to the strawberry patch to pick a bowl of good ol' juicy fruit. When Big Bore noticed I was eating them about as fast as they were being removed, he bagged himself a bunch and put them in the freezer for a rainy day.

My favorite birthday treat has always been angel food cake, vanilla ice cream, and strawberries on top. Mix it all together into one big blob of sweetness and yum-meeeee!

My only regret is that the patch doesn’t produce into the summer. As the Book of Ecclesiastes says, though, “To everything there is a season. A time for every purpose until the heaven….A time to plant. A time to pluck that which is planted….” I don’t think the Bible specifies: “A time to eat,” so after I get all my strawberry plucking done for the day, I’m going for the right for the gusto and chowing down. Immediate gratification! In no time flat!

Friday, May 22, 2009


Not very many people know that once upon a time I took piano lessons. We had an old upright in the living room, and the parental expectation was that it should be put to good use and not be a dust collector. Both my sisters were accomplished enough to become piano accompanists at school, but I barely made it past go.

For one thing, I wasn’t big on practicing. Playing outside with my non-musical friends was higher on my priority list than playing the piano. For another thing, I couldn’t get both hands coordinated together. I could do the right hand solo just fine; same with the left hand. Try to combine them, though, and the results were disastrous.

On the rare occasion when I learned a full-fledged two-handed piece, I would go overboard and play it into the ground. This happened with “Spinning Wheel,” a rather frenzied song that I would play faster and faster, until my brain was also spinning, and Mama Bore would tell me to put a lid on it. I also did an obnoxious version of “Chopsticks” that she would try to tune out.

Once I actually composed a piece, which I called, “Storm.” It consisted of me slamming my left fist to the lower keys (thunder) and using the right fingers to tinkle on the high notes (rain). The whole family couldn’t wait until I was struck by lightning and blown off the piano stool.

When it was finally determined that I was not about to become another Liberace, (surprise!) my teacher waved the white flag and told Mom to save her money. The music world and I were spared further misery, and the ears of my family members were no longer subjected to an assault of all the wrong notes. Oh, happy day! Was I ever keyed up! No more piano lessons! All my sharps had gone flat for the last time! Bravo!! Bravo!! Standing ovation!! Thank-you. Thank-you. Thank-you very much. It's been a pleasure. May the piano rest in peace.

Thursday, May 21, 2009


Midway up our spruce tree, Mama Robin has hatched two fledglings that we’re hoping will endure the weather and predators. So far, so good. I had to get on a step ladder to take this picture (quietly) while MR was out pulling up worms for lunch. Surprisingly, I kept my balance and didn’t fall into the tree, although Big Bore was standing close by to catch me, just in case. Ah, what we proud parents go through for a photograph of our babies.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


My car keys ended up in a tree yesterday. Next time Big Bore asks for them, I think it would be prudent to gently hand them to him rather than haphazardly toss them at him--especially when we’re outdoors. My aim is not so hot. In fact, I’d venture to say, “It’s for the birds!”

Tuesday, May 19, 2009


Since the word MESS is my middle name, I started painting the kitchen cabinets yesterday. This is going to be a month-long project, in my estimation--maybe longer, as I’m doing one section at a time rather than taking everything down all at once. I expect to apply three coats of paint, and each coat must dry overnight.

I have a history of painting mishaps, thanks to various cats that have lived with me over the years. Once, after spending an entire evening putting up blue painter’s tape throughout the living room, the next morning everything I’d lined along the floor and baseboards had been ripped up and rolled into sticky balls by Shadow Cat.

Another time, when I was painting in the back porch, I failed to secure the lid on tightly to a partial gallon of white paint. Mama Kitty accidentally tipped it over from the box on which it was setting, and the textured brown tile floor became ruined in a split second.

The funniest cat/paint caper was when my ex left a tray of blue paint on the bathroom floor to take a nap while I was out of town. I returned home to a house full of blue paw prints--not just on the tile and hardwood floors but also on the sofa, coffee table, countertops--anywhere a cat had been, there were the tell-tale signs. I shook awake the ex with a few choice words and made him wipe up the disaster. Luckily for him, the paint was latex-based.

So, it’s with some trepidation that I start another big indoor painting project with four hairy helpers snooping around. Yesterday went well, though, so I’m forging ahead and hoping there won’t be any cat-astrophes this time around.

Monday, May 18, 2009


Yesterday was high school graduation in our fair burg, so I made the rounds at some after-parties to give my best wishes to those who matriculated into the adult world. One kid got his community college diploma, with honors, a day BEFORE he received the high school one. Imagine that. He’s one of those highly achieving brainiacs who has been studying in overdrive rather than raising hell during his teen years.

I was never so motivated when I was in high school. Oh, I tried to make good grades but avoided the hard classes, as in math and science, as much as a I could. Home ec. was another area of study I steered away from, since cooking and sewing were miles beyond my realm of comprehension. Unfortunately, there were no more phys. ed. classes offered after freshman year, so I filled my electives with vocal music and study halls as much as possible.

We didn’t have the big post-graduation family shindigs like are done now. As soon as I tore off the cap and gown, it was out to the senior celebration north of town. I think it was also, unofficially, known as "the class drunk.”

Now, I wasn’t a big consumer of alcohol--Mama Bore had “won” a liquor store in her divorce settlement, and she had impressed the fear of god into me about drinking, but I did weasel a ½-pint of sloe gin out of her for the occasion. It was a sweet red berry liquor that was mixed with enough 7-Up to keep me sober all night long. Drinking wasn’t all that much on my mind, anyway. I was with my Boyfriend of the Month and was more intent on getting a buzz from his sweet kisses than getting boozed into a stupor.

I remember that summer after high school graduation as being the longest on record. The BF of the M dumped me in June, of course, and then I couldn’t wait to get off to college in the fall. A lot of the grads quickly moved on to jobs, marriage, the military service, or summer schools in other towns, and there was NOTHING TO DO--except referee my younger siblings while Mama Bore worked. The days seemed to draaaaaaag by, each more boring than the next. Little did I know then that time would go by much faster the older I got. That’s one important, impossible lesson of life a kid can never learn in school

Saturday, May 16, 2009


Just when you thought I’d covered about every bitch topic that exists, I have a new pet peeve to gripe about! It’s arrived just in time for warm weather, with me wanting to be outdoors all the time. What is it, you ask? Well, what has four wheels, cool treats, and plays a loud, obnoxious, calliope-style version of “Turkey in the Straw” and never shuts up? It’s the $%#@! ice cream truck that has invaded our town. It’s making me mental!

Last night I was walking/jogging, and although I never saw the blasted noisemaker, I could HEAR it the entire hour I was out. Miles away. It’s disturbing my peace!! And, of course, the high-pitched tune drives the dogs crazy, and they howl and bark up a storm. It’s like a chain reaction from hell. Where are my ear plugs when I need them? Desperately.

I’m not usually one to begrudge some hard-working kid the opportunity to make an honest living, especially one who’s hawking yummy treats, but if the volume doesn’t get turned down on the “Turkey in the Straw Mobile,” I’m going to waddle up to that sales driver and shout two words into his ear: “Stuff it!!!”

Friday, May 15, 2009


It's a sunny, windy morning in our little part of the world today. I've been outside letting my hair blow dry and having flashbacks to my kid years, when I'd explore the South Mound near our house in Fredonia on days like this one.

I always enjoyed getting off the beaten path around the lower parts of the Mound. On the southwest side of it, there was a slab of sandstone that jutted out from the ground, making a nice spot for lying down at an angle, soaking up some rays, and listening to the breeze and the birds or the latest gossip from girlfriends making the trek with me.

A few years ago, I tried to find the pathway to that favorite spot. The area is tangled with overgrowth; I guess that happens in 45 years. I had one of my great nephews with me, and he wasn't so sure about traipsing down into the area. There might be poison ivy or snakes. But, we forged ahead and eventually found the rock that was once my roosting spot a lifetime ago. He wasn't as impressed with it as I was when I was his age, but he agreed it might be a good place for a 14-year-old girl to hide in lieu of doing chores at home.

Everybody needs his or her secret little place to think and dream and jump away from responsibilities. Even adults. Secluded. No interruptions. Carefree. Maybe I need to get back to the South Mound more often.

Thursday, May 14, 2009


My beer traps netted these two little besotted slugs overnight. I hope they didn't chew on too many strawberries before they started boozing it up. I went to Pittsburg today to see Mom, so I'm feeling a bit sluggish myself. This calls for a jog out to ALCO to pick through some sale items and wake up. More tomorrow.....

Wednesday, May 13, 2009


The Flaming Bore is off to the big city today to get the car serviced and then engage in a bit of shopping hopping. I prepared my purchase list off and on yesterday, in between morning yard work, afternoon showers, and the latest edition of American Idiot on TV last night. Adam was my pick during the auditions half a lifetime ago, but in recent weeks his high-pitched screaming has turned me off. One should not need ear plugs when encountering an idol.

But back to my spending spree. Home Depot, Lowe’s, PetSmart, Michael’s Arts and Crafts, and Wallace World are on my agenda. (Sorry, Dr. Maureen. Please don’t disown me for trying to chop prices.) The main items I’m looking for will be paint and related supplies for my big kitchen cabinet project. If it ever stops raining, I may get started.

I set out beer traps for the slugs in my strawberry patch yesterday morning, but by evening the rain had washed away the Miller Hi-Lite, so I don’t expect to find any intoxicated blobs floating belly up today. I’m also waging war with grub worms. Every time I see one of those slime balls, I squish the life out of it. “Stay out of my yard and don’t come back!”

There needs to be some trespassing laws to prevent these unwelcome wigglers from entering my hallowed territory.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


The peony garden at Casa de la Flaming Bore is pleased to announce the arrival of its first full-blown bloom yesterday. I wish your computer screen had scratch and sniff capability so you could get a whiff of its wonderful aroma! Enjoy the day.

Monday, May 11, 2009


A TV commercial caught my eyes and ears over the weekend--Seasonique, the birth control pill that cuts down menstrual periods to just four times a year. One for each season, thus the overly cutesy name. Instead of using the phrase, “It’s my time of the month,” gals going with the flow can say, “It’s my time of the year.”

Now, we all know that I have long “outgrown” the need for birth control pills; heck, I’ve been menopausal (aka: the parting of the Red Sea) and loving it for over a decade, but the idea of reducing the number of one’s periods still intrigues me. I bet the folks at Kotex and Tampax are screaming bloody murder over this new pill since it has the potential to cut their sales of pads and plugs by billions of dollars. Talk about cramping their profits.

My inquiring mind got on the Internet to learn more, of course, but I’m not so sure Seasonique is going to become the big hit it promises to be. Most of those who’d tried it ragged this new pill and wrote in to discuss the unpleasant side effects they experienced: “I lost my sex drive,” “It gave me excruciating headaches,” “I thought I was going to bleed out!” Buyer beware. It’s Season-eek!

Upon reading these cursed non-recommendations, I have some advice for you young readers. I think you should just embrace your Inner PMS, welcome your monthly visits from Aunt Flo and her Crimson Tide, pop some Midol, roll up in a ball of unbelievable pain, and suck it up like we old broads did. After all, it’s a great excuse for being bitchy. I should know. I wrote the book on Bitch. Period.

Saturday, May 9, 2009


This has been one of my weeks to take care of the Garden Club’s park downtown, but with all the rain we’ve had, there hasn’t been that much to do. I’ve weeded and swept mulch off the sidewalk and removed a big ol’ carpet remnant that had blown in. Oh, and cleaned the bird droppings off the benches and sidewalk and picked up nasty cigarette butts left by thoughtless smokers. That was loads of fun. Notice in the first picture how the city workers who installed the fountain had no clue about centering it.

The renters next door moved this week, so I did some neighborly yard work since the owner lives in Colorado. There were lots of branches to pick up, and the little circle garden was weedy once again. This home has been vacant so often during my 27 years on the block (gasp!) that I’ve more or less adopted the yard as my own. But I draw the line at mowing the multiple lots of lawn. The Flaming Bore is not quite that energetic. I have enough work to do in my own yard. Like watching the peony buds start to pop open. That requires intense concentration, but I'm ready to get with it. Have a weed-free weekend.

Friday, May 8, 2009


We have a new/old object taking up space in the driveway. Big Bore recently bought a 1985 Ford Ranger to use for work, fishing expeditions, and crap runs to the local dumping grounds. The truck has character--meaning it has lots of dents and rust--but it has four tires and the engine turns over, so that’s the main idea.

We’ve decided to give a name to this well-worn set of wheels. The current nominees are Blue Bomb and Bo Mobile. “Bo” is a nickname BB’s old friends gave him years ago. It’s short for “Bodeen,” as in Jethro Bodeen, the super goober grandson on the old “Beverly Hillbillies” TV show. Both have ravenous appetites and have a closet full of overalls from the husky boys department.

Wednesday we took the Blue Bomb/Bo Mobile on a little drive out in the country to inspect one of BB’s fishing holes. It’s been raining a LOT here lately, so the road down to this sweet little spot is flooded. We got out to inspect the area, and I promptly when into a mud slide. Never wear flip-flops when sloshing about wet territory. Fortunately, I caught my balance before taking a dive into the muck. Which was a good thing. God forbid if I’d dirtied up the inside of the truck.

Next time, when BB ventures out in his BM, I'm playing it safe. I’m staying home!

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


Yesterday I was reading the latest edition of Entertainment Weekly and came across a picture of funny gal Amy Sedaris. I was immediately thrown into a blast from the past when Ms. S. starred in a bizarre Comedy Central show called “Strangers with Candy.” The show was a wacko parody of the old Afternoon Special shows---the ones where some teen was in crisis and his or her monumental problems were worked out in the matter of an hour.

In “Strangers…” Sedaris portrayed Jerri Blank, a self-described “user, boozer, and two-time loser,” who returned to high school (specifically Flatpoint High, home of the Fighting Donkeys) at age 46, with the sincere conviction that she would succeed the second time around.

In the course of trying be popular, the pathetic Jerri always seemed to end up making a royal mess of things. And the school rules constantly put a cramp on her well-intentioned plans. --Like the time she had to lose weight in order to make the debate team (“It’s not what you say, but how you look saying it.”) Since Jerri had 80 percent body fat (the other 20 percent was scar tissue), she ended up dieting, became anorexic, and, in her family’s quest to get her to gain weight, she accidentally ate her pet Japanese chicken, Suki. Ooops.

One of the silliest recurring bits in the show was that Jerri had a different pet with almost every episode. There was her cat, Scabby; her rabbit, Tattle Tail; Shelley the Turtle; Gregory the Woodpecker; Clawson the Lobster, and Leslie, an albino boa constrictor. She kept most of these critters in her school locker at one time or another and would sometimes talk to them in between classes. Invariably, they would meet some oddball demise.

Of course, her school was filled with nutcakes. During Chastity Week, the girls phys. ed. teacher passed out ribbons that said, “Never Been Touched,” cherries dangling from them. The art teacher also had a flair for going over the top. One of his assignments was to have students pair off with a camera, then take pictures that exemplified the theme: Freedom. Well, Jerri ended up stripping down and having her partner take nude photos of her. The principal was outraged, but the art teacher backed her concept, talked her into staging a hunger strike, and then locked her into a school trophy case.

Damn! My own school days were NEVER that exciting!!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009


When I was working in the yard yesterday, I met up with a magical little lady bug who asked me to take her picture and write some Haikus in her honor. Here’s what I came up with:

1. Lovely Lady Bug
Feet frisky, tickling flowers
Petal Ecstasy

2. Stylish Lady Bug
Orange and black polka-dot dress
Purple runway star

3. Lady Bug Patrol
Cruising the flower garden
Loitering allowed

Vote for the Haiku you like best, or write your own. (3 lines--5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables)

Monday, May 4, 2009


I have another little confession to make about my quirky lifestyle. I am a certified, raging rockaholic, and Big Bore is my enabler, aide and abettor, partner in grime, whatever you want to call it. This sickness began in 1977 when I took the above rock from Teton Lake in Wyoming, and it continues to this day.

Now, I am not a student of geology. I have no idea what all my rocks are scientifically called, although I've given some of them names. I just go for what I think is interesting looking. Here are a few of the specimens around the yard:

This is Wavy Rock. BB found it a few years ago when Lake Fegan had receded. It is now perched in front of our porch steps.

Don't tell anyone, but this rock came from the top of Pike's Peak. I had to search for a small enough one to stash in my purse.

This is my Mick Jagger Rock, which also came from Lake Fegan. The red blob looks like Mick's lips, don't you think?

This is Little Hitchin' Post Rock. Next to it is a mosaic flower pot disaster I made a few years ago.

When BB moved to Casa de la Flaming Bore a few years ago, he brought his own box of rocks with him. Be still my heart! Above and below are my favorites from that collection.

Whenever we leave the city limits, I usually have my rockin' radar going full tilt. It's long been thought in some intellectual circles that I have rocks in my head, and I would venture to say it's true. Rock on!!

Friday, May 1, 2009


Miss Muffin Pissy Pants and I have our May Baskets made, and we are ready to make some special deliveries today. We wish you a Merry, Merry Month of May!