Blogowhato?

As some of you may have noticed on some prominent blogs there's something a-brewin in the wilds of Colorado.

Most, if not all, of the attendees are calling it Blogorado, a name not officially endorsed by myself or any of the Farm Fam. (Hush, all of you, I told you we're not endorsing it! Who's captaining this ship anyway??*)

Anyway, I've mentioned it in passing over the last little bit but now that it's actually happening I guess I feel more comfortable in coming right out and saying it: my little town will be overrun by bloggers, gunnies, gunbloggers, and, quite likely, large amounts of alcohol.

With a remote pasture and the instruction to bring whatever they would like to shoot, shoot at, or otherwise destroy, along with a few riding lessons and enough snark to drown an elephant, I'm sure we'll find some way to pass the weekend.

Plus, the attendees, who were carefully chosen, screened, and vetted by yours truly (not really) will be getting a singular treat in Farmmom's cooking. My beloved mother has busted her butt to provide a veritable feast for every night we'll have visitors, with peripheral help from myself, Farmdad, and Mamaw.**

I'm sure folks will be dropping notes whilst they're here, and I'll try to get up a few posts of my own, but frankly I'm so excited about seeing folks I've met before and meeting new folks that I don't know how often I'll be able to actually sit down at the computer. Besides, I'll have to keep up the charade that I'm actually a hostess capable of pulling something like this off. Which I never would be able to do without the full cooperation and assistance of my loving family.

Who are doing this all for me, and not at all because they're serious fans of some of the lovely folks that will be attending. At least that's what they tell me. Even when I accuse them otherwise.

I expect I'll spend the first night re-assuring people that we do indeed have such a thing as internet here, even if the county has barely heard of a wi-fi hotspot. And I'll spend Saturday laughing at certain bloggers as they go into iPhone withdrawals. I don't care what network you're on, where we'll be shooting, connectivity is nil.

Not to mention the shooting and tasting home-brewed beers and the story telling and discussions and and and.... Oh crap I still have to do laundry!


*Farmmom is, of course, captaining this ship. Who did you think I meant?

**Mamaw has actually helped more than either Farmdad or I so far, although Farmdad is, as usual, in charge of the industrial smoker for Friday night's bbq. Still, I think at least half of the folks coming are only after Farmmom's chicken fried steaks.

Pioneer Woman

Last night after a five hour drive (with a break in the middle to see my sister from another mother R so she could trim my hair before everyone descends upon us next weekend) and a two hour wait, I had the honor of meeting Mrs. Ree Drummond, aka, Pioneer Woman. For those of you who have somehow missed the boat on this one, she's an excellent writer and a cook to die for. Which is great since I paid thirty bucks for a copy of her cookbook for Farmmom.

Ree didn't even blink at being asked to sign a book to "Farmmom"... probably not the weirdest thing she's seen lately.

Anyway, I arrived at the Tattered Cover on Colfax in Denver about four thirty or five... the exact time was driven out of my head by the fact that there were already people waiting!

I immediately ditched the original plan to get the cookbook, get myself a book, go read and come back about thirty minutes early. Found a convenient piece of wall and stuck around. As a result I was somewhere around fifth in line.

Of course, being me I was dressed in western casual, blue plaid shirt over blue tank top over blue jeans and boots, topped off with my good straw hat. (If you were there and you saw me, you now know you saw me. I was the only one there in a cowboy hat, so I got a lot of attention. And a lot of pictures taken. Eep.)

I was quite out of place at the book signing, although Ree did compliment my hat. I'll be getting a picture in email of myself and Ree from the very nice lady from Kearny Nebraska that was the very first one there! (She was proud of herself so I thought I'd throw that one in.)

A few of us traded blog addresses (ok I gave mine to them. I didn't come prepared, I admit it. I had nothing to write with and nothing but my books to write on. Don't hate me, ladies! Just email me yours and then I'll have them, see? Email, as usual, is in the profile section.) and will probably stay somewhat in touch. They were very sweet ladies and some adorable munchkins who were remarkably patient with the whole process of waiting around for the book signing.

Anyway, Farmmom got her Christmas wish, and I'm contemplating hiding it from her until Christmas actually arrives... but then, she's my mother and she knows very well exactly how much and what kind of torture it would take to make me give up the location of the book, so I'll probably go ahead and give it to her.

Now I just gotta figure out how to justify another trip up that way on December 5th for Larry Correia's book signing.....


Edit: It appears that it was an even bigger deal than I had thought last night from my admittedly foreshortened view of things. Tattered cover ran out of cookbooks, for one, so yay for Ree's royalty check, and apparently there was a lot of line-jumping going on.

I've even found reports of a "Stair People Revolution" which I think is a fantastic concept.

So congratulations to Ree on a hugely popular (if slightly disorganized through no fault of her own) book signing. And, no offense to those who arrived "on time" and had to wait forever, but congratulations me for my neurotic need to get anywhere in the city early just in case. To those people who were on the stairs and waited forever, I love you. You are all wonderful people for being polite and doing things in a mannerly fashion. Viva la Stair People Revolution!

Happy Halloween!

There's just something about cap guns that brings out the kid in me. Instant childhood.

As soon as I opened the box I got this strange urge to run around the house firing them off. But since my buddy and I have a gunfight planned for the Halloween party at the bar tonight, I need to conserve ammunition.

But gee whiz it puts a smile on my face to pop off a few. So if you're feeling old or down or just want a little bit of that youthful joy back, go get yourself a cap pistol and some caps, and go nuts!

Sickies

Well, with the usual perfect timing we seem to have come down with a case of the flu. I say "we" but I really mean Farmmom, Farmdad, and Mamaw.

So far, I think my fall allergy sinus congestion has been protecting me from the bugs. If I can't breathe in the germs can't get in.

Farmmom's been down the longest but she seems to be improving. Farmdad caught it from her, and Mamaw came down with it after he did.

I'm just hoping that it clears up in time for me to sanitize the house, because we've got a lot of company coming in about ten days.

So cross your fingers and send healthy thoughts, guys. Otherwise, with my luck, I'll be miserable for the big weekend.

It's Really Gone

It's that time of year again when I start to realize that yes, summer is really gone. For one thing my allergies go nuts as every plant in the northern hemisphere starts throwing off whatever it is that they throw off as they die or go dormant for the winter.

Whatever it is, my sinuses hate it.

For another, the grass goes brown and dry, starting to sound more papery underfoot than lush and swishy. The sunshine and air take on a different quality, too. I don't ever feel like I'm really warm all through from the first frost until the clover starts to sprout, even when I'm working up a sweat. Fall and winter have their charms, but it's just not the same as baking in the summer sun.

I'll readily admit that I'm a summertime girl. In the summer the days are long and there are more hours to hang out with my large four legged children, of whom I suddenly realize I don't have nearly enough pictures.

I've been talking quite a bit lately about the three pasture ornaments, thanks to the nice folks who were running through our fence, necessitating me leading them back in, so I found some pictures of them, and summertime, because dagummit I miss the sun!

Here you can clearly see how wild they are. On the right is Muffin, my beautiful, built-like-a-brick-shithouse girl. Looking at this picture, most horse people would be thinking "Why is she not broke to ride?!?" Well folks the answer to that is: When Muffin was just a bitty foal, she ran through a barb wire fence, and cut up her right fore. She healed up and did great in pasture, but when we tried to have her saddle broke we discovered that the damage had made her lame with the added weight of a rider. I'm going to get her bred, though, because I want her baby! In the middle is Roanie, who you can't see very well, but who has lived a very long, contented life, throwing a few colts and generally bossing everyone else around. On the left is Dusty, my beautiful blue eyed boy. Like so many blue-eyed animals, he's developed cataracts and doesn't see very well anymore, but in his pasture, with the girls to help him, he gets around just fine.


Well enough to find my car and see if the paint job is tasty, anyway.

I know I've mentioned that Muffin is shy. She's just not a pet me kind of horse, but we've come to a working understanding. As you can see in the first picture, I pour the grain on the ground and don't hover over her head, and she comes close enough for me to look into those beautiful brown eyes. We're still working on the touching part, mostly because every time I'm out there with them my fingers itch to stroke that velvet coat.

But really, who wouldn't want to spend a couple of hours out in the pasture with this? Whether they let me love on them or not, they always come to say hi and see if I have a treat for them. Roanie accepts her wither and neck scratches regally, or stands blissfully under the curry comb in the spring when I help her shed out of that sweaty winter coat. Dusty sniffs at my fingers and my pant legs, or just stands hipshot near by with those lovely eyes half lidded in the sun, soaking up its warmth. And Muffin? Well she gets in on the action too, occasionally sneaking up behind me to see if I've stuck some extra special treats in my back pockets or down the waistband of my pants.

To me, that's summer. A couple of hours in a pasture, getting grass stains on my knees and horse slobber on my shirt, all for the sake of the briefest of moments, that brush of contact from a whiskery muzzle on my skin.

The contact may last an instant, but the contentment and joy that I feel thanks to these wonderful creatures that have no reason to love me, beyond that I am kind to them and respect them in turn. They're not trained, they don't work. They've never developed that age-old partnership between man and horse. But every time I step out of the pickup, they come running, without fail happy to see me.

And that thought, friends, warms my heart as sure as the summer sun that I won't see again for months warms my skin.

Hooray For The First Amendment!

It seems that President Obama's people (of not the big O himself) attempted to bar Fox News from an interview with the Pay Czar, Mr. Feinberg, while allowing the rest of the White House Press Pool.

This attempt backfired when the Main Stream Media system finally woke up to the fact that hey, they're trying to mess with freedom of the press!

All of the networks that were "invited" so to speak, refused to conduct an interview if Fox wasn't allowed the same chance.

So, although I never expected to say this, I'll give kudos to the MSM for seeing the right thing and doing it.

Article here and here.

(HT to Breda for the second link)

The House

Well, we've continued to work on my house, although at times it seemed we were moving backwards rather than forwards.

Progress is being made, however. There is just a bit of crawling around in the attic left to do for the wiring, as we only have two more lines to run to the breaker box, and the drops to make in the office/tack room/laundry room.

First I have to finish tearing out the plaster and lath in the office/tack room/laundry room, so that we can get the boxes for the plug-ins and light switches put in, and the wire drops from the attic made. Then it's just actually installing switches and plug-ins, and tying everything together at the junction boxes, which I can now do. Once all of that is done, it's time to call in someone with a little more skill and confidence than we have to actually install the breaker box, and get everything up and running.

Once the electrical drops are made and all of the attic crawling is finished, I'll be going to the other extreme and making my way underneath the house to do the plumbing, water and gas. Yes, we have to re-run the gas lines as well.

Meanwhile once the pipes are run as far as the wall between the kitchen and office/tack/laundry room, and all the electrical drops are made and the exterior plugs put in, it'll be time to throw up the insulation on the outside walls and transfer a large amount of my crap into that room, so that it will be out of the way.

Because once the plumbing and electric are working in the bathroom and bedroom, I'm going up with the remainder of the insulation (the bedroom is mostly insulated and drywalled, but not completely) and drywall, then texture and paint, and flooring.

Followed by the installation of the necessities of life: the tub, toilet, and sink, as well as the water heater. And the most important bit: my bed.

As soon as I have a functioning bathroom and a finished bedroom, I'm moving in. I can always borrow a kitchen, and I love Farmmom's cooking anyway.

But, it's finally beginning to feel like things are getting accomplished, which means I'll find something in the office/tack/laundry room that requires being completely rebuilt, because that's the way it goes. On the other hand, it is the only room that we have to pull the ceiling down in, so perhaps that's enough for Mr. Murphy.

I'm not counting on it, though.