Hare Today and Goon Tomorrow...

And down down down came the Good Fairy,
And she said: "Little Bunny Foo Foo,
I don't like your attitude"

(Children's song, author unknown)

 As I've said before, we're in the middle of re-decorating the house.  My mother brought many of my things from overseas to me when she was here last Spring.  And the deal struck by Blaine and me was that he would paint the house the color I wanted and then I would re-decorate everything.  So throughout this blog post I'll put a few pics of the "in progress" areas.  The things in the settings are always subject to change as I have a habit of having to look at things for awhile until I make a final decision---and then I may take things away or I may add things.  (I think if you click on the pics they will get bigger.)  If you see things out of place or on the floor, that's things I haven't figured out what to do with yet.

Anyway, while I'm showing you the house, I'm going to tell you how I solved a HUGE problem in our house.  And I'm sure many of you will know exactly what I mean.

How many of you get irritated because your man/woman doesn't pay attention to you?  (I'm just going to use the word "man" from now on because that's my significant other and it's easier to type than "man/woman").  Anyway, how many of you feel ignored and unattended by your man?  You know what I mean---you're talking to them about the events of the day and you notice that they have one eye on the television or the computer screen and the other, the eye that's supposed to be paying attention to you, is glazed over, obviously not registering what you're saying.

It drives me nuts, I tell you.  Nuts.

I mean, I pay all my attention to Blaine whenever he talks to me.  I will stop what I'm doing, put down my knitting, or else take away my eyes from the TV to look directly at him.  I always pay attention to every durn word he says, whether it's yawningly boring or some other fool thing he's talking about.  And on top of that, I pretend I'm interested.

But Blaine and many other significant others don't return the courtesy.  Noooooooooooooo.  They ignore the hell out of you when you talk.  And then if you bitch at them about it, they claim they WERE paying attention to you when you know damn well they WEREN'T paying attention to you.

(Blaine was the one who found the nifty pot lid-racks on the bottom shelf of the kitchen island below.  The top is his "sack lunch station" where he constructs his work day sack lunches.  I keep his banana hanger there.  I keep his walnut, almonds, and a roll of Baggies in clear containers.  I even light a little red candle there in the mornings to make "ambiance" for those early mornings.  The hanging down thing from the lamp is masking tape that we used to cover the cords while painting the kitchen.)

So then you test them to see if they're listening to you.  You talk to them for a minute or two and then you slyly say:  "Okay, what did I just say?"

In the old days, men were totally caught red-handed by that question.  And then they'd have to shamefully admit they weren't paying attention and you could yell/bitch/scream at them all you wanted.  But today's men are.....well....different....

They have become IMMUNE to our tricks.  Can you believe it?  They're immune.  They're like viruses that have mutated.  They have adapted to their environments and have become stronger and more difficult to deal with.

(The pic below is a mosaiced tea set my artist mother made for me.  She cut each individual tile herself and adhered them with a special adhesive.  Then she grouted the set.  The cloth underneath is my crocheted creation from metallic and eyelash novelty yarns---but it doesn't show up well in the pic.  The throw pillow is one of two I bought in Syria.)

Anyway, I don't know about your significant other but my Blaine has now developed the sinister ability to recite the last two sentences I said, thereby proving that he IS listening to me.  But I'm not fooled and no amount of bitching will get him to admit he is STILL not listening to me.

Okay, I have never been one to be daunted by a problem.  I'm so stubborn that I'll figure out how to solve it or die.  And I finally got totally exasperated last night.

(There is a tiny coleus plant below, in the little gazebo on top of the pedestal.  I crocheted the little green & brown cloth.)

I was talking to Blaine while he was on the computer.  He plops himself in front of it whenever he gets home from work and checks his investments.  I noticed there were graphs, pie charts, and spread sheets in front of him as usual.  So, thinking he could take a second or two to listen to me, I told him about a particular problem I'd had that day.  He didn't blink an eye.  He kept looking at his graphs, pie charts, and spread sheets.  And I realized that, yet again, he wasn't listening to me for beans.

And I got angry.

(Below are just odds and ends from various countries.  It's supposed to be mostly things that remind me of the Crusades with African things thrown in.  I crocheted the little leopard cloth.)

So, simmering in my knitting chair, I got madder and madder and madder and madder at the oblivious Blaine.  I knew that none of my tricks (like asking him "what did I just say?") would work.  Nothing would work.  Once Blaine's eyes are on a computer, that's it---he's glued to it.  And what's worse, he is a computer nerd who works with computers at work on a daily basis.  You'd think he'd get tired of computers by the time he gets home from work!  But noooooooo.  He's always got his head stuck to the computer.  He even installed our home computer screen on the coffee table so that he can watch TV while  he works at the computer.

So, an idea sprouted in my head.  Slowly, I stood up.  I casually walked over to the area directly in front of his computer screen.  I crouched down below and crawled until I was directly underneath the screen.....

And then I suddenly popped up behind his computer screen like a Jack-In-The-Box, right in his face over the computer's screen---with my right hand's fingers shaped like rabbit ears.  I began a puppet show with my fingers, making the "rabbit" hop along the top of his computer screen while singing my favorite childhood song:

 

Little Bunny Foo Foo

Hopping through the forest

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head...

 

He was dumbstruck.  Silent.  He actually stopped working on the computer.  But finally he gained his wits about him and watched my performance wordlessly.  He let me get all the way till the part where the Good Fairy starts descending from whence Good Fairies come from, in order to turn Little Bunny Foo Foo into a "goon"--- until he started clapping sarcastically.

For that matter, where do Good Fairies "descend" from?  Fairy Heaven?  Is that a suburb of regular Heaven?  I need a Good Fairy but there's no field mice around here for me to bop on the head to summon one.

And for that matter again, what do Bad Fairies do?  Encourage Little Bunny Foo Foo to keep on bopping the field mice on the head?  Provide even more hapless field mice to Little Bunny Foo Foo to bop on the head?  And where do the Bad Fairies live?  Bad Fairy hell?  If that's the case, they couldn't "descend" like Good Fairies do---they'd have to "ascend", right?

(Below are my masks I purchased in Africa.)

WHERE WAS I?

Oh yes, putting on the Little Bunny Foo Foo puppet show for Blaine.

So Blaine was clapping sarcastically at what I considered a pretty good puppet show above his computer screen.  (Yes, you can clap "sarcastically"---you know the clap, the one where the person claps slowly, one clap at a time, while holding an impatient "you complete idiot" expression on their face...)

Anyway, I stopped the puppet show and rolled on the floor laughing my stupid head off.  I knew I had made my point, don't you think so?  So from now on, if I can't get his attention, I'll simply whup out the Little Bunny Foo Foo Puppet Show for his enjoyment.

Told ya I can solve problems.....

(Below is my refuge---my knitting nook.  I have no idea why the flash didn't go off and light it up any better.  The round black object is a fountain---the water drips down the doohickeys that stick out.)

(And below is an area that is obviously not re-decorated yet.  It's a mess!  But Robin wanted to see a pic of the sweet potato vines and also I did want to show how I solved the problem of what to do with them, since they wouldn't survive the winter outside.  Also, we may have a night in the 30's this week which could do them in.  So I brought them inside and stuck them on top of the china cabinets, which seems like a good home for them.  And I definitely do need to get this area decorated prettily, hopefully.)

*

Little Bunny Foo Foo

Hopping through the forest,

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.

And down, down, down came the Good Fairy, and said:

"Little Bunny Foo Foo

I don't want to see you

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.

I'm going to give you three chances,

And if you don't behave,

And then, I'm going to turn you into a...GOOOOOON!"

Little Bunny Foo Foo

Hopping through the forest,

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.

And down, down, down came the Good Fairy, and said:

"Little Bunny Foo Foo

I don't want to see you

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.

I'm going to give you two more chances,

And if you don't behave,

And then, I am going to turn you into a...GOOOOOON!"

Little Bunny Foo Foo

Hopping through the forest,

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.

And down, down, down came the Good Fairy, and said:

"Little Bunny Foo Foo

I don't like your attitude

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.

I'm going to give you one more chance,

And if you don't behave,

And then, I am definitely going to turn you into a...GOOOOOON!

And it won't be pretty!"

Little Bunny Foo Foo

Hopping through the forest,

Scooping up the field mice

And bopping them on the head.

"That's it."

Then the Good Fairy came down,

And then she turned Little Bunny Foo Foo into a...GOOOOOON!

And the moral of the story is:

"HARE TODAY, GOON TOMORROW".

*

It just ain't fair.....

I'm not sure I can even write a coherent blog post today because Blaine and I both have the flu, dammit.  I felt increasingly worse and nauseated yesterday.  And on top of that my case manager made an unscheduled visit.  He is such a ding dong.  And then after he left I heard the garage door raise---and Blaine walked in saying: "I don't feel good".

I'll bet you dollars to donuts that Blaine has never taken a sick day all of his life.

Anyway, we struggled through the night, using Alka Seltzer, aspirin, Tylenol, Naproxen, and Pepto Bismol to no avail.  We still felt awful.  But I did fall into a deep sleep for once.

Today we are still sick as dogs and are just moaning around getting our stuff done.  I know it's early but I'm sipping Campbell's Soup (tomato).  It comforts me.

Oh, yesterday people were asking me about the little "cloths" I knit or crochet for the house.  Here's a pic of a "leopard"cloth I crocheted and then put 4 or 5 inch fringe on it.  I have these type of things all over the house.  They don't look like doilies, really.  I make them to match specific areas.

And here is another nook I've started to decorate (but not finished yet) for where I crocheted some light green and white cloths.

If I live through the consumption I'll write a better blog post.....

To Yarn Harlot, With a Gift

It's too late to apologize

It's too late...

("Apologize", One Republic)

To Yarn Harlot:

I hope you hear me out but I know that in light of things you probably wouldn't soil your boots by setting foot on my blog.  But maybe one of your friends can read it and tell it you.

I don't expect you to forgive me but things finally came to a head for me last week, during the anniversary of 9/11.  I realized that I am a complete asshole and urgently need to apologize to you.  I don't even know how to apologize for what I've done.  It's such a big sin that I'm not sure exactly how words of apology could suffice.

But I must come to understand that my experiences with terrorism overseas, in the past and currently, are no excuse for the deplorable and disgusting way that I've treated you.  Here's 3 things I'd like to say to you:  

1)  I was wrong.  I was so wrong.  After thinking hard about this issue, I realized that you were never being anti-American----you were simply expressing pride in your own country which is admirable.

2)  I know you know that I hate anti-Americanism.  But my therapist said to me that if I believe in the principles of the USA's freedom of speech, that I should extend that belief to peoples of all cultures and countries.  Nowhere is there an 11th Commandment that declares that a person can't think or say whatever the hell they want to say, good or bad, about America.  

3)  My bad attitude about anti-Americanism developed many years ago as a result of experiences I had when growing up as a "Diplomatic Brat" overseas and then when, as an adult, my mother and I were victims of that unmentionable terrorist incident in Syria.  

But that occurrence should never have evolved into my stupid, self-righteous habit of preaching against anybody I perceived as "anti-American".  Because, like I said, it's a person's right to say and think as they please, whether I like it or not--and even so, I don't think you were ever being anti-American. 

Actually, Canada holds a special place in my own heart. As people who have studied history know, the Acadians were French people in east Canada who eventually left that area and settled in Louisiana, USA, where their descendants are the Louisiana "Cajuns".  I have tons of Cajun relatives---and thus, their blood (and Acadian blood) runs in my veins.

Also (speaking of terrorism overseas) it was Canadians who hid some of the American Embassy employees when the Embassy was attacked by mobs and overrun in 1979 when the Iranians took many American hostages. (Link here.)  

And when I lived overseas, Canadian diplomatic employees were always nice to me.  

Also, when I graduated from nursing school, I completed further training for working in hospital ER's and ICU's with several Canadian women who were very smart, quick-witted, and nice ladies.

As some people know, I have had kind of a meltdown this week due to the events of what happened in Libya where the American Ambassador and two others were murdered by terrorists.  As a result, all my PTSD symptoms have come flooding back and my mood turned into an angry, ugly cancer.  I've been having vicious flashbacks and have needed extra help from my therapists.

BUT....

That is absolutely no excuse for how I've treated you.

There is nothing I can do but apologize to you as sincerely and humbly as I possibly can--and give you this small gift.  I know you won't forgive me---but I did want to get this on record both for you and also publically because I also think the knitting community should know that I am apologizing to you.  This is no stunt or desire for attention---it is real.  I really am very regretful and sorry for my ugly behavior towards you.  

Believe it or not, I am not that kind of nasty, hateful person.  But I have disappointed myself and God with the things I have said regarding you.

Anyway, for what it's worth----I sincerely apologize to you as truly as I can, and I am going to try to be a better person about this issue in the future.

Things are still escalating against certain American Embassies in the Middle East, and God help them.  We happen to have some dear family friends stationed in the American Embassy in Pakistan where there are anti-American protesters even this minute holding the Embassy in siege.  It is looking dismal for them.  Blaine has forbidden me from watching CNN.  My family also has other friends in many of the other American Embassies in the Middle East.  And believe me, I know how terrified they feel--- because of what happened to me and my mother.  But I must persevere in hope for their safety.  But again, I must not take out my fears against others.

Anyway, I promised you a gift, Yarn Harlot.  Many friends of mine know that I am an avid gardener.  One of my special interests is in growing and cultivating certain rare flowers.  All year long I have carefully taken care of a "black petunia" plant, but the petunias usually bloom looking like pinwheels of black & white or black & yellow.  But yesterday I was finally able to produce several pure black petunias on one of my plants, the goal of every black petunia gardener.  The blooms will only last maybe one or two days on the vine.  

And so, my gift to you is the picture of these rare things as I know you appreciate things of beauty:

Bo

*

What Goes Around Comes Back Around----Thank Goodness

*

Bought a ticket for a runaway train

Like a madman laughin' at the rain

Little out of touch, little insane

Just easier than dealing with the pain

("Runaway Train", Soul Asylum)

Approximately seventeen or eighteen years ago, before Blaine and I got divorced, his brother and sister-in-law bought a house.  And so it was planned to give them a housewarming party.  I immediately set to the task of finding a wonderful housewarming gift for them.

They were very broke and so I wanted to give them a really nice gift.  So I asked his sister-in-law what colors she was going to decorate her house in and when she mentioned the kitchen she said was going to decorate it in "white and green".  So that gave me something to work with.

After looking at a hundred things here and there, I finally arrived at one of my favorite antique shops.  And there they were.  These four graduated sizes of gorgeous fluted white cannisters with handpainted green florals---and little flowers for the lid pulls!  They were Italian and very old---it was a complete wonder that the four cannisters had survived the decades at all without any chips and all the tops intact.

I thought that I had found THE PERFECT GIFT!  How could anyone not love them?  Especially a person who loves antiques like Blaine's sister-in-law does.  And they were in her desired color scheme.  So I bargained a fair price for them with the dealer.  They were very expensive.  (But I am a ruthless "bargainer"---I learned that skill from many of the foreign countries I lived in overseas where prices are not customarily "set"---the price is usually dickered back and forth between the buyer and seller before the final price is arrived at.)

And I was so happy that I had found her what I considered a good housewarming present.  I looked forward to her opening them.  But deep down, actually, I wistfully realized that I loved the cannisters for myself---and was kind of sorry that I had designated them as a gift for someone else.  But, with secret longing, I wrapped them up for her, already jealous that she would have these lovely cannisters for herself.

At the housewarming party she looked as though she was very happy with them.  So I thought all was well.

And then....

Two days later, her husband, Blaine's brother, called me and said:  "We have decided to give these back to you.  We don't like them."

I was crushed.

And confused.

And right after that he drove to our house and unceremoniously returned the box containing the cannisters.  Blaine and I were somewhat confounded about the whole matter but we just went on, trying to forget the unpleasant incident.  I was confused because I had been raised to be a lady---and I thought that a "real lady" would never do such a thing---but I just shook my head in disbelief as I stood there holding the box with the precious cannisters.  I set about putting the whole matter out of my mind.

....um....except.... I must not have put it out of my subconscious because, unfortunately, those times were among my totally heavy drinking days.   And later that year I did insult her in an ugly manner one time when I was three sheets to the wind blotto on vodka..

(The way it went down was due to her criticizing me about being addicted to alcohol by saying "she hated a drunk", and I promptly replied: "Oh really?  Well YOU'RE addicted to cigarettes so pray tell how our addictions differ?  Well I guess yours is more "acceptable" because you can't be pulled over on the highway for being under the influence of nicotine....")

(these days we're cordial...)

Anyway, that was a very long time ago.  I divorced Blaine in 1997 but then, as you know, I returned to him in 2007.  So, anyhoo, the other day Blaine was cleaning out the basement and.....

...he called up to me from the basement and asked if  I wanted an old dusty box "with jars" in there.  I went downstairs and looked into the box--- and THERE THEY WERE!  And the ironic thing is that we found them while we're in the midst of re-decorating the entire house!  And I haven't figured out the scheme for the dining room yet, but now I will definitely do the dining room around the colors of these lovely cannisters.  (They won't go with the decor of the kitchen as it is being done in stainless steel large appliances and red small appliances, with accoutrements in both colors.)

But I can decorate the dining room in green and white if I choose and so I'll put the cannisters in there just for looks.  I already have a whimsical plan for a corner in there that will look positively enchanting with these beautiful cannisters.  (I'm filling them with marbles to make them heavy so that the cats can't knock them over.)

I still wonder about a couple of things, though:

1.  Why in the hell did she have her husband, Blaine's brother, call me to tell me they didn't like them?  Wasn't that her duty?  I know she was probably uncomfortable at having to return them to me but still--- the dirty chore belonged to her.  (At least that's the way I look at it.)

2.  Why did she hate them?  I just can't imagine anybody hating them.  Who would hate such pretty antiques---no matter what color your dang kitchen is?  She herself loves antiques.  And another thing is that there are very few antique china cannister sets that are intact from the teens and 20's decades---especially ones in a person's preferred color scheme.  (The teens and 20's were decades when handpainting china was popular among young ladies.)  Don't you guys think the cannisters are lovely?

3.  What's more---they totally matched her decor, in spades.

4.  And for that matter---who returns gifts?  Couldn't she have hidden them and only brought them out if me and Blaine went to visit?  Or couldn't she have made up a white lie and said that she dropped the whole box holding them and caused them all to shatter?  (That's what I would have done rather than tell the gift-giver that I hated their gift....)

Anyway, when Blaine found the box containing them, I was jubilant.  I was ecstatic!  It was like Christmas for me!  I had never really wanted to give them up in the first place!  (Sorry about all the exclamation points.)

But still....

!!!!!!

*     

Beer For My Cats....

*

She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino

to decorate our home,

"So you'll feel more at ease here,

and you won't have to roam.... 

(David Frizzel, "I'm Gonna Hire a Wino")

You know, you'd think I could have had much more done by now in the way of redecorating the house.  Blaine finally finished painting the entire house in my favorite color, dark taupe (and don't let the yellowish color of these pics fool you---it's not yellow, it's taupe, dang it---but my stupid new camera can't seem to achieve the correct hue.)

(Blaine says it's-- as they say in Sprint lingo--"operator error".)  (To which I respond-- in Bo lingo-- "shut your pie hole".)

I mean, I have all the decorating things I need lying all over the place, the amount of which you'd think I'd be working six days till Sunday.  Plus I have access to Blaine's wallet to buy any other stuff I want.  And the only obstacles I really have is one or more stupid cats in my way.

(Note: all pics can be enlarged by clicking on them.  Look closely and you'll see an idiot cat.)

So what's my problem, you might ask?

The problem is that all I've been able to get decorated is my knitting nook...

...and the downstairs bathroom.

And now I have "redecorater's block".  I can't seem to proceed any further.

But do you see another....uh.... issue here?  It is the fact that I've only redecorated the bathroom and the knitting nook.  Add in the wide-screen TV, the near proximitiy of the kitchen, and the self-bean-grinding coffee pot we have--- and it would appear to be every knitter's dream of everything she or he would need to... er.... knit all day!!

I know, I know---it's tacky to put pics of a bathroom on my blog.  But I can't help it since, like I said, it's one of the few areas in here that I've completed and doesn't look as if a bomb went off in it.

Oh, I wanted to tell you.  See the framed doctor's prescription paper framed on the shelf above?  (You can see where it is in the whole scheme of things in the pic below.)  That is a doctor's prescription for "one pineapple pie".  Allow me to explain.

It was written by Dr. Sudip Bose, a wonderfully talented young doctor with whom I worked in an Emergency Room once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away.  It's written for a pineapple pie because I had bitched loudly for 2 solid hours on our shift that a patient had gotten a pineapple pie on their meal tray and I wanted one very badly for myself to no avail.  The hospital kitchen staff had tersely informed me that the damn pineapple pies were ONLY for the patients.

So, grinning widely, Dr. Bose had whipped out his prescription pad from his pocket and written me the script for a pineapple pie, heh!

I loved working with Dr. Bose.  He called me "Super Nurse" but I called him "Dr. Bose" even though he had asked me to call him Sudip.  (What can I say--I was trained for nursing in an old fashioned convent nursing school.)  Dr. Bose and I worked together extremely well.

Later on, Dr. Bose was called from Reserve status to Active Duty and went on to glory and heroism as a military combat physician in the war in Iraq, later writing two books about his experiences there.  (Link here.)  Dr. Bose was the doctor who treated Saddam Hussein when they pulled him out of the hidy hole where he was cowering.  Now Dr. Bose is a famous doctor.  Last I heard he was working as a trauma specialist in an Emergency Room in Chicago and doing the lecture circuit and book signings on the side.

(Click on the "Book" link in his website and it will momentarily fade to the pic of Dr. Bose' hands putting a tongue depressor in Saddam's mouth during the examination.)

Anyhoo, I framed the cute prescription he wrote me and there it sits......in the bathroom (see below).  And I have no idea why I put it there.

And I still want a pineapple pie.

Where was I?

Oh yes, my redecorating problems.

My mother asked for some updated pics of the garden so here are some of the ones I took.  Taking care of my garden feels as if I am constantly redecorating an entire "room."  (Notice how Mr. Inconsiderate Blaine leaves his damn painting tools on the umbrella table, ruining the garden's ambiance---so I took that stuff to the garage where it belongs.)

(Notice how I'm over-using parentheses, italics, and the word "damn"??.....)

Where was I?

Oh yes, working in the garden.

Okay, so I got a couple of indoor areas redecorated at the same time that I've also been working hard in my garden.  Of course, the little red radio to the left in the above picture is important because I enjoy listening to music while gardening.  But I have been forced to listen to country western music even though I'd rather listen to my oldies station.  That is because the country western station is the only station I can pick up on that damn radio.  Sigh...

I don't know if people from countries other than the USA know this, but a lot of us "southern" people call country western music "cryin' songs".  That is because most country western songs include descriptions of tragic relationships, bitter divorces, loss of belongings in said divorces, loss of good pick-up trucks, loss of good dogs, too much alcohol, and other things in life to get weepy about in San Antonio, Dallas, Santa Fe, Ft. Worth, and other places where divorces, pick-up trucks, and good dogs, etc. occur....

For example, when watering my petunias I frequently hear country western classics such as:

"Whiskey for my men and beer for my horses";

"I've got friends in low places";

"She got the palace and I got the Jeep";

"It must be five somewhere" ("five" meaning the pm hour when it's finally and respectively okay to begin drinking cocktails that day);

and the ever popular:

"You don't look so good since I stopped drinking".

One thing about "cryin' songs" is that you can always find yourself in one or more of them.  For example, for years my anthem was the heavy drinker's rationalization about how "it must be five somewhere"----but I had gotten that saying from my mother.  She used to sing it when she poured herself a beer at lunch.  And then I began to sing it when I was in the deep throes of my alcoholism while pouring myself a drink around the dang clock.  And we always lived in foreign countries while I was growing up so I figured my mom was just acknowledging the fact that we were in a different time zone than Louisiana.

I didn't realize it was actually a bonafide stupid country western song till last Wednesday while planting cuttings of a coleus plant.

And on another note (no pun intended), the thing about the "beer for my horses" song is this:

I would not be so stingy with my liquor.

If I had written that song and it was my choice about the booze, I would have sung: "Whiskey for my horses and Mouton Rothschild Cadet 1982 for me".

Fortunately for me, when I sobered up and began my recovery from alcoholism, Blaine was still gorgeous.  So I don't have to secretly hum the "you don't look so good since I stopped drinking" song.  I can actually sing that song like so:

"You look handsome whether I'm slobbering drunk or sober as a preacher, Blaine...."

(That IS a compliment, isn't it???)

Oh--- to change the subject---I just realized that I didn't write down the complete stanza of that song "I've got friends in low places".  It is:

"'Cause I've got friends in low places,
where the whiskey drowns
and the beer chases my blues away."

 I feel that these lyrics are self-explanatory.

Now, about the palace and the Jeep song.  In Blaine and my's case (is "my's" proper grammar?) when we divorced in 1997 I got the Jeep.  And I was damn glad to get it because it became the famous nurse-mobile I used for years while employed as a Road Nurse in Texas cattle country.  It gave me many blessings, especially that time it saved my life that time I was STUPID enough to drive it through a flash flood.  (Link here http://bohemianknitter.blogspot.com/search?q=McFly .) There's many of my stories listed there but the flash flood one is either a link in that list or else you can jump down to "So Are You Chicken, McFly?"

(That is all stuff from a portion of my old blog, upon which I blathered for years during the times I worked in the wild, wild west....)

Oh God......I just re-read all the stories on the above link and it triggered some awful flashbacks to past years, which is a symptom of my bipolar condition and also my PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  The thing about my flashbacks is that they not only rocket me back to the good times but the bad times as well.  So let's forget about it and come back to my re-decorating of the house here in 2012...

I think I shall do the hall wall rounding the corner from the kitchen today.  I have an entire collection of chicken pictures I want to hang.  But not to worry---I shan't make the arrangement of chicken pictures look tacky.

(Yes, it's really true---I really do have a collection of chicken pictures.  I even have one picture of a leopard spotted chicken, heh.)

I shall do the wall in good taste.  Pics later...

*

Bo's Cat Cam - Sept. 5, 2012

Bo  (loudly and sarcastically, gazing down at HER knitting chair---the chair nobody DARES to sit in):  "Don't move everybody ---- I can always sit and knit elsewhere."

Culprits (oops, she means cats)  Lu-Lu and Peaches :  "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

Bo (losing the sarcasm but adding a scary foreboding tone):  "Like I said, everybody..... I can always sit and knit ELSEWHERE!!"

Assholes (oops, she means Lu-Lu and Peaches):  "zzzzzzzzzzzzz"

Bo then begins looking for a toot-ta-doo......

(Definition for the American deep south word "toot-ta-doo":
The inner cardboard tube at the end of a paper towel roll into which deep southern children startle people by playing "loudspeaker" with it by holding it to their mouths and then screaming the well-known bugle announcement  "TOOT-TA-DOO!!!!"

Bo cannot find a toot-ta-doo so she gives up in despair.  She briefly considers using a toilet tissue roll but abandons that idea since she knows it just won't have the desired effect.   She wonders if she can work on her new knitted project, the "Twirley Skirt", elsewhere--- but knows it just won't be the same as when knitting in her very own knitting chair which the assholes (oops, she means Lu-Lu and Peaches) (oops, she means assholes) have taken over.....