RUB RATS

As soon as the rain blew away yesterday morning, the doorbell rang.

"Would you like to join the Leaf Rubbing Club?" asked my nine-year-old BFF next door.

"Of course I would!  I LOVE leaf rubbing!"

There were no dues, so the club of two got started.  She provided the paper and crayons.  I got the scissors and away we went to explore the trees in our yards.  In no time at all we'd collected a dozen different specimens.  Time to rub.

"You know, we have to label all of these," I told Sweet Neighbor Girl.

"Well, I don't know what they are," she said.

Never fear. The Flaming Bore is a graduate of Big Bore's Academy of Tree Identification, which he forces upon me every time we go out for a walk.  We got them all done and SNG's mama came outside on the porch to check out the action.  I decided to quiz my fellow leaf-rubbing club member to see if she could impress her mom and remember the names of some of the tree donors.  She did pretty well at first, breezing through elm, mimosa, and cottonwood.  Then came one that stumped her.

"I'll give you a few hints.  Two words, initials R-O, and a color is involved."

"Red something?" she asked.

"Yes. Now what's the O stand for?"  Surely she would get this.

"Octopus?"

"NO!!!!  There is not a Red Octopus tree in your yard!" but we did get an ocean-sized laugh out of her guess.

"Hmmm.  Hmmm. Oak?"

"That's better!"

Next time I see her, I'm going to re-ask Sweet Neighbor Girl about the Red Oak, and if she says "octopus" again, I'm going to squeeze my tentacles around her and kick her out of the Leaf Rubbing Club, even if she is the president.

FOREHEADS ARE BETTER THAN NONE

Thanks to a raging case of insomnia, or maybe it was just a nightmare, I had the pleasure of viewing the last half of "Trail of the Screaming Foreheads" early this morning on IFC.  What a classic!  I'm still trying to figure it out.

Alien foreheads, which look like slabs of walking Silly Putty, invade the earth and start attaching themselves to the human foreheads of stupid people to make them smarter.  At the same time, Dr. Philip Braden, crack scientist, drinks a potion concocted by his blind assistant chick, and his entire head turns into a huge blob. His wife Mary screams at him when he comes out of the closet at the lab,"You're nothing but a big fat foreheaded freak!!"  

So--Dr. Phil runs away screaming, while the Human Foreheads plot to take over the world.  They disguise themselves by wearing dainty little women's hats with netting that is meant to cover the bulge on their brains. 

But wait!  There are still three remaining Flatheads around and they go to, where else, the public library to research how to get rid of Forehead Aliens.  Ah-hah! The sound of ringing bells will stop the evil beings.  They attach various bells around their bodies and the mad confrontation begins!!!  

At first, the bells drive them into a swift retreat...but these are newly-smart Alien Foreheads and it doesn't take them long to figure out how to overcome the bells--with ear plugs! But wait---again! The Flatheads set off a building alarm, so loud that the ear plugs are rendered useless.  The Alien Foreheads dissolve, Dr. Phil dies, as well, but his cranial blob disappears and he is restored to his normal appearance.  Wife Mary mourns him.  Fade to film credits with the "Screaming Foreheads" theme song in the background.

Hmmm.  Maybe this WAS a nightmare.  

GONE APE

Earlier this week, Big Bore and I went to the Independence Park and Zoo to engage in one of our favorite past times, bareback gorilla riding.  Something tells me that I'm ready to move on to the larger specimen because the gorilla I chose to hop on looks like it should be riding me.  And if you stare into those apish eyes (and I don't mean mine or BB's) you might also notice that UNLIKE the fierce Gorillas living in Pittsburg, these Independence fellas are stoned in more ways than one!

Happy weekend!

GARDEN SURPRISES

When I checked on the downtown garden yesterday, a pretty bloom caught my attention.  I thought this new columbine would be light purple like the mother plant next to it, but it turned out much darker. Isn't it beautiful?

The neighbor kids and I yanked weeds from their circle garden a few nights ago, and Sweet Neighbor Girl asked how she could get some flowers in the newly-cleared space.  I went to my seed drawer and she picked out zinnias. She got them planted, 1/4" deep, and will water them (I hope) while waiting about 10 days for germination. Trouble #1, who is hellbent on digging holes, was told to LEAVE THE SEED AREA ALONE!!!  He ended up excavating a place nearby, so I suppose we'll go to the greenhouse this weekend and find something hardy to plop in that spot.  No sense wasting a good hole.  

Don't forget:  May Basket Day is next Tuesday!!!  : )

GROW UP

Graduation Day is lurking. Yesterday I received am announcement from one of the 2012 grads-to-be at the local high school, and I immediately went back into teacher mode.

During my tenure as an educator, senior class sponsors were directed by the principal to check over the students' choices for Class Song and Class Motto (which would be plastered everywhere) so the school wouldn't be terminally embarrassed.  I took the responsibility seriously. More than once, amid whines and protests, I axed their irresponsible selections.  

"You're infringing upon our rights of freedom of choice and freedom of speech!" 

 My response:  "Tough!"  If they weren't going to use common sense voluntarily, I'd force them.

That said, I about flipped out yesterday when I read the Class Motto on the newly-arrived graduation announcement:  "Rules are meant to be broken.- anonymous."  Give ME a break.

IF I was still teaching and IF I was the class sponsor, this is what the Brainless of 2012 would hear from me:  "What disappointments you are.  Thousands of people in this school district have paid their hard-earned money to educate you for the past 13 years, and this is what they get?  Break the rules.  That's what you've learned?  That's your life's motto?  Drive drunk.  Abuse your children.  Steal. Cheat. Hate. Lie. Don't live within your means. Do whatever you want and to hell with everyone else."

And they'd argue back that not all rules are good ones and that they are just saying to be individuals and don't always go along with the crowd. Then I'd mouth back, "Then change your motto to: 'Be an individual and don't always go along with the crowd,' and it will be approved."  

But they'd still be crying out for "Rules are meant to be broken" because they are snot-nosed brats who insist upon flaunting their immaturity in the faces of the adults who've been supporting them for 18 years.

Shame on them.  And shame on the class sponsors who let them get away with it and didn't make this a learning experience.  The kid who sent the announcement will receive a graduation gift from me because I'm trusting that he was not among the majority who chose this ridiculous Class Motto, but he's also going to receive a few words to the wise from me, as well.  Thumbing one's nose at rules can lead to a world of heartbreak.  I can only hope that he and his classmates learn this sooner, rather than later. 

End of rant. 

LOVING CUP

I drink a lot of hot tea, and my favorite cup for such slurping purposes is this imported beauty I received a few summers ago from an exchange student I once tutored.  Veronika is from Slovakia, and the cup...actually there are two of them that came in the heart-shaped box...is made by a company called Carmani.  I've checked out its website, and I have no clue how to order anything because the language is totally beyond my comprehension---but it's just fun looking at all the pretty cups and saucers.

I keep fearing I'll drop one of my treasured cups because I'm such a klutz, but so far they have survived in spite of me.  Every morning, even in the dismal winter, I enjoy looking at the ceramic flower garden while I'm drinking down some vanilla chai.  Thank-you, Veronika, for starting my days out right.  

ROAD LESS TRAVELED

Close to 100 years ago poet Robert Frost wrote "The Road Not Taken," a metaphor for individualism.  The basic message he tries to get across:  the least followed path in life can often be one that ends up being the best choice. "....I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

Well, today Big Bore and I decided to go with the literal translation of this poem when we headed home after decorating the family graves in a neighboring county.  Our last stop was at a country cemetery, and from there I suggested we continue on the gravel roads west of LaFontaine and go on to Howard. Then we'd get back on the highway for the remaining 30 miles home.  We'd never taken this route before, but let's follow Robert Frost's sage advice and take the roads less traveled.

And, boy, did it make a difference!  We took wrong turn after wrong turn, mainly thanks to my crack navigational skills, and ended up in Longton...about 20 miles southeast of Howard. But was that enough of bumpy roads for us?  Oh, no.  When we got to Elk Falls, BB decided we should get on the gravel again and go the next 10 miles to Howard--which we eventually found.  Time out to get a cherry lime-aid at Toot's Drive-In and reconnoiter.  Ahhhhh!

But had we had enough?  Not yet.  BB wanted to try to find an old bridge over Salt Creek that, as he recalls, has arches.  Library Lady and I are entering a county scavenger hunt and we have to take pictures of two bridges with arches.  Ten more miles on gravel roads later, no bridge. "Let's call it a day and go home," I whined. I'd slurped down all my cherry lime-aid and was getting thirsty again.  

So, what has made all the difference by taking the roads less travelled?  Number one:  we wasted a whole lot of gas.  Number two:  the car is filthy, inside and out, with dust.  And number three:  if all the car tires aren't flat by tomorrow morning, I'm going to be amazed. If Big Bore volunteers to clean out the car, I'll be even more amazed. 

Next time, we're sticking to the highways.