CRASH LANDING

Have you ever known anyone who has had an accident playing horseshoes? Well, now you do.

Yesterday after getting my car serviced in the big city, Big Bore and I headed out to a park with our ancient horseshoes. We found them in Mama Bore’s garage last month--untouched for over 50 years, but I took the steel wool to them and painted them, so they look brand new. We were ready to toss those babies.

“First one to 20 points wins,” BB announced.

We have our own scoring system. I don’t know if it’s “official,” or not, but we give 3 points to a ringer, 2 points if the horseshoe ends up leaning on the post, and one point if the horseshoe lands less than its width to the post. If both throwers come close, the closer one wins the point. Got all that?

Well, I kept missing high and missing low and missing left until, finally, “Clank,” it looked like just maybe I had a ringer! Hooray! I got so excited that I immediately had to gallop down to the post to check. Not a wise move.

Midway to the other end, my size 10s took a stumble on the grass---then another stumble, and another stumble as I tried to keep my balance until my entire klutzy body took a crashing tumble--boobs and head first. Aaaaggggghhhhh! My sunglasses jammed into my right cheek, and somehow I scraped up my right hand.

“Are you okay?” Big Bore asked.

“Oh, my head aches!” I said, bouncing up in embarrassment and giving the all clear sign.

At that point, we both started laughing.

“I wish I’d captured that on a video camera,” BB said. “We could have won $10,000 on America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

“That’s the last time I’m going to run down to see how I did,” I moaned, my t-shirt stained with grass from smashing my boobs into the ground, although I must credit my big girls for preventing any broken ribs.

And to add insult to injury, I lost both games, 20-7 and 20-11.

Big Bore says he sure enjoyed our outing because I am such an adorable “down to earth” person. Very funny. Ha-ha. Next time I play the dangerous game of horseshoes, I’m wearing a suit of armor.

I'M A DANDY LION

My war against weeds has returned!!

After I dug up all the evil bad guys in our yard today AND the neighbor’s adjoining yard, I had to bop downtown to the Garden Club’s garden to weed there. That was not enough, though. Oh, no! Then I went to the library with my trusty tools and weeded the garden area all around the building. And I wonder why my back aches much of the time. It’s because I’m all scrunched over waging a battle with the damned weeds!!

Big Bore says it would be much easier on my body if I’d just spray some sort of poison on the weeds, but I’m not a big fan of sprays. I’m always afraid I’ll inhale most of it and then I'll start wilting. Besides, I get a sense of power yanking up weeds. Alas, I may not be able to rule over world, but I can bully those dandelions into submission.

Yes, there is great satisfaction being Queen of the Yard Police. “Get your ass out of my lawn! Now!! ” I love it.

BABES IN THE WOODS

Earlier this week Big Bore and I made a quick return to Petit Jean State Park, Arkansas, to hike Seven Hollows Trail, since we didn't have time for it the last time we were there.

We walked up and down, in and out, and all around rocks and trees and caves for five-and-a-half miles before our aching muscles heaved up the white flag and proclaimed the mission accomplished.

"High five! We made it!"

Here are a few more pictures from the trail:

This is called Natural Bridge. It is not to walk over, just under--which is just as well and much safer.

This next picture shows a tree from atop a bluff that has fallen onto two other trees, supported for who knows how much longer. I'm the blip at the bottom.

Here's part of what's called The Grotto--a cave and pool at the halfway point of Seven Hollows Trail. This would have been a great spot for a picnic lunch, had we packed one. The Flaming Bore and Co. travel lightly. Water only.

We have already scoped out our next adventure to Arkansas--Magazine Mountain. To be continued.....

TIME FOR A LITTLE "R AND R"

Saturday Big Bore and I planted flowers--over 100 annuals in the front yard and south of the house. Then he watered everything and I dug up dandelions. Next, we came indoors and I applied two bags of frozen peas to my aching back, the result of being 60-years-old and spending three hours hunched over on my hands and knees in the dirt. Ah, the sacrifices one must make for beauty!

We’re off to Arkansas to recuperate in the Ozark Mountains for a few days.

IMPOSSIBLE

Recently, before my great neph Boomer toodled off to daycare, he asked me to read a book to him. His selection was a well-worn Dr. Seuss number called Hop on Pop. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly War and Peace or even a classic Grimm’s fairy tale. The words in it were limited to mostly two and three-letter rhyming pairs, but the only other choice he had was Fancy Nancy‘s Favorite Fancy Words, and, even at four-years-old, Boomer knows that book is too ooh-la-la girlie for his masculine taste. So, Hop on Pop it was.

Well, the very first page got Boomer all in a little snit because the illustration had a puppy flipping up into the air and off the page.

“Up, pup. Pup is up,” I began reading.

“Dogs can’t fly!” he laughingly protested.

“Well, it’s just make believe,” I responded.

“But dogs can’t fly!” he continued to insist. “Look, Aunt Nancy. Dogs can’t fly!”

Dr. Seuss would have flipped out of his grave, had he been trying to please Boomer’s literal interpretation. He had a comment for just about every page.

“Pup on cup,” I read.

“Dogs can’t sit on cups!

“Pup under cup,” I continued.

“Dogs can’t get under cups!”

This went on and on. But that’s okay. At least I was relieved he wasn’t blurting out that kid-favorite, 3-letter word that all exasperated adults like me dread hearing….

“Why?”

(Love you, Boomer!)

PICTURE THIS

A few months back Big Bore’s microwave oven bit the dust, but we were hesitant about replacing it--especially me. The new small ones don’t cost all that much, yet we thought we’d see how long we could go without buying a replacement. Did we really NEED one? The answer was no. Sure, they’re convenient but we kind of liked having the extra counter space, so we are still a micro-free kitchen.

The result was different, however, when my digital camera went kaput last week. Oh, my god! The world was coming to an end! When I went to see the relatives over the weekend, I had to borrow Big Sis’s camera, which was confusing since none of its buttons were in the same place as my busted camera’s buttons. I ended up taking one of the pictures in some movie format, and I still haven’t figured out a way to get a still shot out of it. Bummer.

Then, when I got back home on Monday I wanted to take pictures of the tulips in our yard. But, nooooooo, I didn’t have a working camera. Well, sonuva…. This called for action!! Those tulips don’t last long! So, when Connie the Library Director and I went to the big city the next day, we hit up Best Buy and I found a new and improved, as in working and more expensive, digital camera. Hooray! I’d soon be back in business.

Thankfully, the tulips waited for me. Once home, I read the camera's instruction booklet and dashed outside to my purple beauties. “We’re ready for our close-up!”

Lovely, aren't they? Microwave ovens could never do this.

SOUTHEAST KANSAS SAFARI

The Flaming Bore has been gadding about the past five days and neglecting this blog. Much of my time was spent visiting family in Pittsburg. Great nephew Luke was my weekend hiking buddy at a wilderness park north of there. Six or seven routes are available to take, and it’s easy to go astray, which we did several times.

“Which path are we on, Aunt Nancy?” he asked during one of our wayward moments.

“I think we’re on the Psycho Path,” I told him, thinking he would enjoy the play on words. “Definitely in The Twilight Zone,” but we eventually made it back to civilization without having to put out a smoke signal.

Luke likes to play silly games while going on these adventures. This time around we staged a Star Wars battle with sword-sized sticks, balanced on fallen logs, challenged each other with spelling words, and conducted a scavenger hunt. Oh, and he also wanted to tell lame jokes.

“Well, I don't know many," I told him, "but how do you know when an elephant has been in your refrigerator?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“You’ll see his footprints in the cheese.”

“Elephants can’t get inside refrigerators!” he protested.

“That’s why it’s a lame joke!”

Never a dull moment walking with The Flaming Bore.