THE WHINERS

Something was bugging me this morning that I thought would be a good blog topic for today, but I've already forgotten what it was. Maybe it wasn't so irritating after all. Or maybe it was all about memory loss. Who knows.

But I DO remember what was bothering Big Bore this morning and that was Kathi Lee and Hoda on their 1-hour portion of NBC's "Today Show." I should know better than to tune them in because they ALWAYS drive BB bonkers. And I don't blame him. They won't shut up!!

The bubbly gals have a tendency to talk at the same time, over each other, to the point that one is clueless about what either is saying. The babbling gets even worse when a guest comes on the show. Then there are THREE mouths flapping at once.

Needless to say, we don't watch this show very often. --Damn, I sure wish I could recall what was bugging me this morning. Until I can think of it, I'm going to be double-bugged.

Hey! I just remembered. It's the blasted phone calls we keep getting wanting us to vote for one of the Republican candidates for President in the Kansas caucus tomorrow. Morning, afternoon, and night. The past few weeks have been a phone-ringing bitch. We've had so many annoying calls today that I've finally quit answering the phone. And no, we don't have caller ID.

The biggest whine I've saved for last: KU just lost!!!

GIDDYUP

In order to become an equal-opportunity book reviewer for the local newspaper, I decided to check out something from the western genre at the library yesterday. I think I've only read three westerns in my lifetime: something by Louis L'Amour (pick whichever one you want, as I think they're all pretty much the same); one by Kansas author Donald Coldsmith, and TRUE GRIT, which was a major disappointment. Whoever was the screenwriter for the movie version of TRUE GRIT was a true genius because the book is a yawner.

But, anyway, I moseyed on out of the library with my fourth western, something called SADDLE BOW SLIM. It was written in 1948 but is new to our library and it's in large print, so that's always a bonus. I won't mention the author just in case he's still alive and rounds up posses to go after critics, but he has other westerns on the local shelves and is, according to the book cover, a "Spur Award" winner, which must be the western writer's answer to a Pulitzer.

So I enthusiastically saddled up on my exercise bike last night to start reading SADDLE BOW SLIM --and, gosh durn it, I hate to say it, but this book is sorrier than a toothache on a Sunday afternoon. Practically every page has a groaning simile (like the one in that last sentence), and the cowpoke vernacular annoys me.

But this is a western!! What did I expect? Shakespeare? And I'm going to finish reading this book, if only to make a list of the Ten Most Appalling Similes in Literary History. I already have two to nominate: "The big gent's face was as black as the belly of a horse at midnight," and "Tensions flowed through the room like currents of air curling up from a rat hole." Winners for sure.

SADDLE BOW SLIM is already giving me saddle sores after just 66 pages. It's going to be a long ride.

ANSWERING THE DOOR

Late this afternoon when I was in the basement working, I heard the doorbell ring. Hmmm. Do I drop what I'm doing and rush upstairs to answer it or just stay put? Oh, heck, I'll go see who it is and hope for the best. Maybe it's the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstake crew ready to pronounce me a millionaire.

No such luck. There on the porch were Trouble #1 and Trouble #2 bearing look-alike, plastic firearms of some sort.

"Stick 'em up!" they both happily shouted.

I obeyed but offered them resistance. "Why are you pointing your guns at me? I'm your favorite neighbor. I give you treats. I never yell at you. I let you play with my cats." Surely these pre-schoolers would be able to reason this through and give me a break.

"Keep your hands up!" Trouble #1 said, and #2 echoed the sentiment. Then their little boy sound effects went ballistic.

They verbally pummeled me with "bangs" and "pows." I came up from the basement for this? For a flashing moment I thought about dropping to the ground and pretending to be seriously wounded, to make them feel badly, but I was afraid I'd throw my back out of whack in the process or, worse, they'd just laugh and run away.

I've decided that next time I'm staying put and Fluffy is answering the door.

GETTING TO THE ROOT OF THE PROBLEM

What better way is there to spend a sunny day than sitting in a dentist's chair for three hours getting a root canal?! Oh, joy!

"Does a root canal really take three hours to accomplish?" you may ask. Well, The Flaming Bore always has to make things complicated. It took a good hour just for the dentist, bless his meticulous heart, to remove the cap that had been on the tooth in question for the past 30 years or so. Anyway, a good time was had by all--mainly because Big Bore and I got to celebrate the completion of my canal by driving 15 miles up the road from the dentist's office to loiter around Arnold's Greenhouse!

Arnold's is sort of a mega gardening spot in the middle of nowhere. We usually hit it up a few times a year. This time around we bought two virbinum shrubs, a larger-than-life rain gauge, some chemicals of various types, and (ugh) four little brussel sprout starter plants. Long ago I once made the bad decision to try growing them. I learned that they are not like many veggies that ripen throughout the summer. No, no. They wait until fall, pop out all at once, and you end up with HUNDREDS of them. I got so sick of those nasty mini cabbages that I have since sworn them off my food list.

But Big Bore thinks he just HAS to have brussel sprouts, so he ended up buying EIGHT plants--in spite of all my protesting and warnings. "You are going to regret you ever grew them. I promise." But do you think he would listen to my advice? Of course not!

I seriously think I'd rather have another root canal than even look at another brussel sprout.

MONDAY MUTTERINGS

I couldn't get into my blog over the weekend for some reason, but all is up and running today. Now, if my brain can just think of what's been going on since the last entry.

Oh, here's something funny Big Bore said when we were watching the KU basketball game Saturday night: "How long does an inning of basketball last?" And he was serious!

"This isn't baseball we're watching. It's called basketball. Twenty minutes per half." Go Hawks! I'll make a sports fan out of him yet--but he sure does make it difficult for me.

Sweet Neighbor Girl and her little bro Trouble #1 were over at the house shortly after 9 AM yesterday with their walkie-talkies. Fortunately, I was still in bed, so BB sent them on their way. They were back at noon because heaven forbid if I didn't see their latest gadget. While they were here, Trouble #1 had a request: "Will you make me a hot rice sock like you made Sissy?"

"Just use hers," I suggested.

"Every time I ask to use it she tells me, 'Not now' and then I never get it." She denied being selfish, but the guilty grin on her face backed up his story.

I can't resist sad brown eyes. "Of course, I'll make you a rice sock. But I'll have to find a sock that isn't girly." The search is on.

If I'm not too bushed from painting the basement door this afternoon, I'm going to a belated birthday party for Dr. Seuss at the library. A big IF, but maybe I'll be recovered in time. Any brick red paint in my hair will have to remain.

When I was listening to the KU basketball seniors give their farewell speeches at Allen Field House over the weekend, one of them gave a fine quote that I told Big Bore should be our mantra: "It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice."

Those are some mighty fine words to practice.

BEAR WITH ME

Last night was the world premier (and closing) of the local 3rd grade musical, "Three of a Kind," co-starring (with 42 other kids) Sweet Neighbor Girl as Mama Bear. We've been hearing about this merry event for weeks now. The basic gist is that Baby Bear is missing and all the other threesomes--The Three Little Pigs, The Three Musketeers, The Three Blind Mice, etc., are called upon to help find him.

Two days before the big show, Sweet Neighbor Girl practiced her lines on Big Bore and me, delivered in mushy-mouthed warp speed. We couldn't understand a single word.

"Good lord! Slow down and enunciate! Your audience wants to know what you're saying."

She just laughed. Maybe the Dr. Pepper she'd been drinking had given her a sugar high.

"You...don't...have...to...be...this...slow," I exaggerated in slo-mo, "but don'ttalksofastthatwecan'tunderstandyou."

So, yesterday before the big production she came over to show off her "Mama Bear look" and go over her lines one last time before heading off to school.

"Perfect!" I said. "You were not too fast. Not too slow. Just right!" said the old Grumpy Bear neighbor. We took some pictures and then she was out the door, ready for certain stardom.

I attended the musical--Big Bore opted out--but when I returned home he was curious about how SNG performed. "How'd Mama Bear do?" he asked.

"She was the best one there," I answered in all honesty. "In fact, she was pretty much the only kid I could actually understand."

P.S. Baby Bear finally showed up at the end. The little snot was hiding from his parents.

MARCHING TOWARDS SPRING

What a glorious March 1st! It's a beautiful day, so I've been outside playing in the dirt and am proud to announce that my hands already have the first blister of the season.

Big Bore: "Get your work gloves on!"

Me: "You know I can't stand to wear them." Bring on the grime and cuts and callouses.

I'm going to have a different workload this spring and summer due to some back issues. I'll probably have to wave the white flag when it comes to the annual war with the dandelions, and I'll be relying more on Big Bore when it comes to digging and lifting, but I think he'll be game.

The key phrases for the time being are "Pace yourself" and "Pretty please" --with the emphasis on PLEASE.

Happy March!