Well, my popularity seems to be growing by leaps and bounds, which leaves me somewhat flabbergasted, to be honest. I'm glad you're all enjoying, though. Welcome, welcome, have a seat, kick off your shoes, make yourself to home.
I do want to send a couple of special welcomes... perusing the site meter pages for my blog (I'm addicted to that danged thing, I swear) I noticed several visits from other countries... Welcome!
Also... to everyone joining us from Law Dog's blog, welcome. I hope my little notes will live up to your expectations.
And Law Dog... I am deeply, deeply honored. *Curtsey* Thank you sir, for the linky love, and the praise.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Dear Traveling Public,
To everyone who wanders away from their vehicle whilst waiting for the pilot car: Please, folks, do get out and stretch your legs. We don't mind a bit. We would, however, appreciate it if you wouldn't do so in the middle of the lane of traffic, and continue to stand there while the outgoing line of traffic is coming. Just a bad idea, people. Also... if you could either stay on the same side of the highway as your vehicle, or at least get *back* on the right side of the highway when you see traffic coming... that would be fabulous.
To the truckers who decide to take a nap: Guys... I know you run hard and you don't get as much sleep as you'd like. Neither do I. But I swear by whatever you care to name I'm going to start borrowing the first truck in line's CB and blowing an air horn in it if you guys don't get your act together, or at least leave a window rolled down so that the noise of traffic going by wakes you up.
To the trucker who broke down then verbally assaulted the female supervisor when she offered help: Yes. You had it under control. So did we. Hope you enjoyed your visit with two of our big 'ol country boys, and the Sheriff's deputy.
To the people who whine about the wait: Folks, its eight miles of road. The speed limit is 45. You're the same people who were whining about how bad the road was... guess what? We don't have a magic wand to wave and instantly fix everything. Guess what else? Your bitching isn't going to make that pilot car get back any sooner. Honest, I know. I drive it. Do yourself and everyone around you a big favor, sit back, take a breath and meditate on this fact: The only thing keeping us from holding you longer than we do, is a sense of common courtesy and professionalism. Even the best people let their vindictive side get the better of them now and then.
To the new (?) Highway Patrol Officer: I don't recognize you, so I'm figuring you're a new rookie they sent down here to train. Welcome to the area. That said, if you ever fly by the flagger on the end without so much as a by your leave and run onto the pilot line doing eighty again, I will personally chew your ass. The siren was a nice touch, by the way. What exactly did you expect me to do when you hit your whoop whoops? Lead traffic off the side of a bridge, or a full foot drop on the other side? You do realize, don't you, that while, when on the open highway, you have the right of way, in a construction zone, you do NOT. We get you guys through as fast as we can because you're trying to do your job, and we don't want to interfere with that. But, we can make you wait, no matter what the call is, until the pilot car gets there. Yes, we can, even if you're running hot. Courtesy goes both ways, Officer, not to mention the safety of the general public.
To the chicks who were checking T out: Number one... yes, he is easy on the eyes, and its not a crime to look. Just some advice though, if you're leaning against your car trying to act all cool, and look sexy.. don't wipe your nose using your entire forearm. You probably couldn't see it from where you were, but that one turned him green. Oh, and when he's talking to co workers who happen to be female? Don't keep talking louder to try and get his attention. That prompts him to mutter to his co workers to help him out here, which prompts much laughter, and waving of dollar bills.
It also encourages us to bet him a dollar he won't "adjust" himself while you're looking. (He did)
To the people who were patient and nice: Thank you so much for visiting and making the day go a little faster. You were a breath of fresh air and much appreciated by all of us who came in contact with you!
Thank you all for visiting us, to those of you who waved and smiled as you went by, have a nice day. To those of you who whined/flipped us off/acted like jerks.... Bite Me.
Sincerely,
Farmgirl
To the truckers who decide to take a nap: Guys... I know you run hard and you don't get as much sleep as you'd like. Neither do I. But I swear by whatever you care to name I'm going to start borrowing the first truck in line's CB and blowing an air horn in it if you guys don't get your act together, or at least leave a window rolled down so that the noise of traffic going by wakes you up.
To the trucker who broke down then verbally assaulted the female supervisor when she offered help: Yes. You had it under control. So did we. Hope you enjoyed your visit with two of our big 'ol country boys, and the Sheriff's deputy.
To the people who whine about the wait: Folks, its eight miles of road. The speed limit is 45. You're the same people who were whining about how bad the road was... guess what? We don't have a magic wand to wave and instantly fix everything. Guess what else? Your bitching isn't going to make that pilot car get back any sooner. Honest, I know. I drive it. Do yourself and everyone around you a big favor, sit back, take a breath and meditate on this fact: The only thing keeping us from holding you longer than we do, is a sense of common courtesy and professionalism. Even the best people let their vindictive side get the better of them now and then.
To the new (?) Highway Patrol Officer: I don't recognize you, so I'm figuring you're a new rookie they sent down here to train. Welcome to the area. That said, if you ever fly by the flagger on the end without so much as a by your leave and run onto the pilot line doing eighty again, I will personally chew your ass. The siren was a nice touch, by the way. What exactly did you expect me to do when you hit your whoop whoops? Lead traffic off the side of a bridge, or a full foot drop on the other side? You do realize, don't you, that while, when on the open highway, you have the right of way, in a construction zone, you do NOT. We get you guys through as fast as we can because you're trying to do your job, and we don't want to interfere with that. But, we can make you wait, no matter what the call is, until the pilot car gets there. Yes, we can, even if you're running hot. Courtesy goes both ways, Officer, not to mention the safety of the general public.
To the chicks who were checking T out: Number one... yes, he is easy on the eyes, and its not a crime to look. Just some advice though, if you're leaning against your car trying to act all cool, and look sexy.. don't wipe your nose using your entire forearm. You probably couldn't see it from where you were, but that one turned him green. Oh, and when he's talking to co workers who happen to be female? Don't keep talking louder to try and get his attention. That prompts him to mutter to his co workers to help him out here, which prompts much laughter, and waving of dollar bills.
It also encourages us to bet him a dollar he won't "adjust" himself while you're looking. (He did)
To the people who were patient and nice: Thank you so much for visiting and making the day go a little faster. You were a breath of fresh air and much appreciated by all of us who came in contact with you!
Thank you all for visiting us, to those of you who waved and smiled as you went by, have a nice day. To those of you who whined/flipped us off/acted like jerks.... Bite Me.
Sincerely,
Farmgirl
Friday, June 29, 2007
Horse Sales
Just got home from the horse sale, picked up a couple of geldings that ought to do a fine job with the cows.
Once the second one was bought, we left. I was afraid I'd come home with three instead of the two max I'd given myself before I ever went.
*Stand Up*
My name is Farmgirl, and I'm addicted to horses.
There, I said it. Its an expensive addiction, and just like any other, once you break down and feed it once, its hard to stop. Especially when you've got two, and are thinking of that four-horse trailer half empty.
Anyway, we came home with one little grade gelding, and one bigger AQHA registered gelding. The registered boy is good bloodlines, lines we like, and watching him during his warm up out in the pens before the sale, well, it was a thing of beauty. Course, once he got in the ring, he got kind of panicky, but he'd never been to town before, so thats understandable.
Besides... it kept the price down for us.
The little grade gelding is a short little sucker, but stocky, well built, and real personable. Both of em have just crackerjack personalities, couldn't ask for better.
We got out of the horse sale for under a thousand dollars. Yeah. I think today, the way I dressed, I looked younger... so I had an advantage. None of them tough old leathery ranchers wanted to take the horse away from the cute young lady who was so excited about it.
Horse sales are exciting. There's a lot of sadness to them, when the old, broken down, or lamed up ponies come gimping through the ring, and sometimes I want to find the previous owners and beat them senseless, because the problems that cause the horse to go for slaughter would have been preventable if they'd just given it a little effort.
But there's a lot of excitement to it, too......
The gate opens, and in trots a nice little sorrel, well conformed, brushed, and with an attitude that says "I'm too good for all of you!"
The auctioneer's assistant reads off an impressive pedigree, and then the excitement starts.
The ring men work the horse in a circle, showing off his movement, and he keeps his head up, eyes on the crowd, as the auctioneer rattles off numbers and nonsense almost faster than you can hear it.
The colt stops, center ring, as if he's posing, and stares out at the crowd with proud eyes. Not wild, he doesn't mind people, but he knows all that attention and noise is for him, and he plays to it.
The bidding is fierce, the ring men begin to call out as they see bids... its a three way... no, four way battle. Everyone is determined to take this pretty boy home.
Down front, actually front row center, is a thin young woman, in a tank top, and faded jeans. She's sitting on her hands, and she has an intense, yet wistful look on her face. She knows she can't take this one home... he's just turned two, and he's not broke to ride, and she just can't afford it.
She has eyes only for the horse, and hears nothing of the auctioneer's babble until he prances out of the ring, and she can breathe again.
She takes her hands out from under her, and eyes the welts that the slatted seat has left.
Ah, well. They'll get worse before its over.
Once the second one was bought, we left. I was afraid I'd come home with three instead of the two max I'd given myself before I ever went.
*Stand Up*
My name is Farmgirl, and I'm addicted to horses.
There, I said it. Its an expensive addiction, and just like any other, once you break down and feed it once, its hard to stop. Especially when you've got two, and are thinking of that four-horse trailer half empty.
Anyway, we came home with one little grade gelding, and one bigger AQHA registered gelding. The registered boy is good bloodlines, lines we like, and watching him during his warm up out in the pens before the sale, well, it was a thing of beauty. Course, once he got in the ring, he got kind of panicky, but he'd never been to town before, so thats understandable.
Besides... it kept the price down for us.
The little grade gelding is a short little sucker, but stocky, well built, and real personable. Both of em have just crackerjack personalities, couldn't ask for better.
We got out of the horse sale for under a thousand dollars. Yeah. I think today, the way I dressed, I looked younger... so I had an advantage. None of them tough old leathery ranchers wanted to take the horse away from the cute young lady who was so excited about it.
Horse sales are exciting. There's a lot of sadness to them, when the old, broken down, or lamed up ponies come gimping through the ring, and sometimes I want to find the previous owners and beat them senseless, because the problems that cause the horse to go for slaughter would have been preventable if they'd just given it a little effort.
But there's a lot of excitement to it, too......
The gate opens, and in trots a nice little sorrel, well conformed, brushed, and with an attitude that says "I'm too good for all of you!"
The auctioneer's assistant reads off an impressive pedigree, and then the excitement starts.
The ring men work the horse in a circle, showing off his movement, and he keeps his head up, eyes on the crowd, as the auctioneer rattles off numbers and nonsense almost faster than you can hear it.
The colt stops, center ring, as if he's posing, and stares out at the crowd with proud eyes. Not wild, he doesn't mind people, but he knows all that attention and noise is for him, and he plays to it.
The bidding is fierce, the ring men begin to call out as they see bids... its a three way... no, four way battle. Everyone is determined to take this pretty boy home.
Down front, actually front row center, is a thin young woman, in a tank top, and faded jeans. She's sitting on her hands, and she has an intense, yet wistful look on her face. She knows she can't take this one home... he's just turned two, and he's not broke to ride, and she just can't afford it.
She has eyes only for the horse, and hears nothing of the auctioneer's babble until he prances out of the ring, and she can breathe again.
She takes her hands out from under her, and eyes the welts that the slatted seat has left.
Ah, well. They'll get worse before its over.
I don't get it!
Ok Blogger has managed to utterly confuse me. I edited the post about the site meter, and it saved as a draft, and when I went to delete the draft, it deleted both of them!
Grrrrr.
Anyway. I guess I don't need to edit it again, do I?
Grrrrr.
Anyway. I guess I don't need to edit it again, do I?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Old Storytellers
I think I get some of my storytelling ability from my grandfather.
Grandpa has a lot to tell stories about though. He's lived a full, and remarkable life.
He grew up ranching with his family, and joined the Army when he was young. That got him sent to Korea, as part of the motor pool. He brought pictures of palaces supposedly off limits, memories that he doesn't like to think about, and lots of stories he's more than willing to share home.
Grandpa uses colorful phrases and old-time terminology that make his stories come more to life. I suppose I try to do some of the same thing in mine, with less of the old-time terms. Maybe when I'm telling them to my great-neices and -nephews, or my own grandchildren, I'll have that old time flavor, too.
I used to think it was kind of boring, because I didn't know what he meant all the time. As I got older and started to figure it out the stories became more interesting, until now I'll do a lot to get him started, sometimes.
I really do think I learned a lot about storytelling sitting across from that weathered, proud old man, and watching him tell of his life, his travels, and his service to his country. Probably most of what I know, as even my extensive reading hasn't made me change my mind about how a good story is told, when its coming from me at least.
And I used to think the coolest thing about Grandpa was the pool table in his basement....
So, if you haven't lately, go find someone you love, or just like, who has lived a long life, and ask them about it. The interesting parts might just surprise you.
And thanks, Grandpa. For everything.
Grandpa has a lot to tell stories about though. He's lived a full, and remarkable life.
He grew up ranching with his family, and joined the Army when he was young. That got him sent to Korea, as part of the motor pool. He brought pictures of palaces supposedly off limits, memories that he doesn't like to think about, and lots of stories he's more than willing to share home.
Grandpa uses colorful phrases and old-time terminology that make his stories come more to life. I suppose I try to do some of the same thing in mine, with less of the old-time terms. Maybe when I'm telling them to my great-neices and -nephews, or my own grandchildren, I'll have that old time flavor, too.
I used to think it was kind of boring, because I didn't know what he meant all the time. As I got older and started to figure it out the stories became more interesting, until now I'll do a lot to get him started, sometimes.
I really do think I learned a lot about storytelling sitting across from that weathered, proud old man, and watching him tell of his life, his travels, and his service to his country. Probably most of what I know, as even my extensive reading hasn't made me change my mind about how a good story is told, when its coming from me at least.
And I used to think the coolest thing about Grandpa was the pool table in his basement....
So, if you haven't lately, go find someone you love, or just like, who has lived a long life, and ask them about it. The interesting parts might just surprise you.
And thanks, Grandpa. For everything.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
"Enhancements"
Ok, anyone who feels the need can blame this one on Ambulance Driver.
What in the world is with all of the "enhancement products" out there?!?
I mean, I can see it for those among us who have a physical inability to be intimate with their spouse. Thats a legitimate thing, and I have no problem with that.
But whyinhell would a 24 year old guy take Viagra???
You're not incapable. There is nothing wrong with the way things function, especially if I listen to your little "not-girlfriend".
So why? I mean seriously, when I found out about it, from you no less, I really did hope you'd wind up with some of that permanent wood they're always warning about, and have to face down the doctors' laughter.
Apparently, this is a trend.
Of course, with every other email in *my* inbox being spam about "satisfie her bettr" and "add 1nches!" I shouldn't be surprised.
What is with the male obsession with their reproductive parts? I haven't yet run across a conversation in public where a group of women were sitting around discussing who had the better vagina. And yet, I have overheard guys in public places discussing not only who's was bigger but how they "rocked her world" last night.
Bubbah, if you're walking straight and talking coherently, you may have given her a lot of fun, but you certainly didn't "rock" her "world."
And the commercials... ugh. Whoever thought up 'ol Bob needs to get some new and better drugs because whatever he's on is giving him a bad trip.
Testosterone Poisoning EVERYWHERE!!!
What in the world is with all of the "enhancement products" out there?!?
I mean, I can see it for those among us who have a physical inability to be intimate with their spouse. Thats a legitimate thing, and I have no problem with that.
But whyinhell would a 24 year old guy take Viagra???
You're not incapable. There is nothing wrong with the way things function, especially if I listen to your little "not-girlfriend".
So why? I mean seriously, when I found out about it, from you no less, I really did hope you'd wind up with some of that permanent wood they're always warning about, and have to face down the doctors' laughter.
Apparently, this is a trend.
Of course, with every other email in *my* inbox being spam about "satisfie her bettr" and "add 1nches!" I shouldn't be surprised.
What is with the male obsession with their reproductive parts? I haven't yet run across a conversation in public where a group of women were sitting around discussing who had the better vagina. And yet, I have overheard guys in public places discussing not only who's was bigger but how they "rocked her world" last night.
Bubbah, if you're walking straight and talking coherently, you may have given her a lot of fun, but you certainly didn't "rock" her "world."
And the commercials... ugh. Whoever thought up 'ol Bob needs to get some new and better drugs because whatever he's on is giving him a bad trip.
Testosterone Poisoning EVERYWHERE!!!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Max
When I was younger, we rescued a Rotty pup, and named him Max, for Maximus.
This dog was bigger than my brother and I combined, but he never hurt us, no matter how wild we got when we were playing with him. My brother would wrestle with him, and Max would ALWAYS win, by the simple expedient of sitting on him.
Me, I rode him like a pony.
Of course, Max was also the reason that we put in a six foot fence.
At that point my parents were running a restaurant, and we had a house right across the parking lot from it. When Max was a puppy, we had a typical four foot chain link fence, and it wasn't a problem. When he got bigger, though, it started to be a problem.
See, Max liked people, and he was smart enough to realize that the cafe was part of our territory, and thus part of his. We never had a problem with him being aggressive with people, but he did frighten a lot of them.
Max, being a big puppy, decided to get out of the yard and go say hi to the customers that pulled in to the cafe lot. And soon, he started taking the slower ones by the hand and leading them to the front door, and then back out to their cars.
He always delivered the right person to the right car.
Of course, the older people got a little startled when a hundred plus pounds of dog came bounding up to them, grabbing their hand, even if gently, in a mouth full of teeth and slobber, and leading them up to the door of the cafe.
Max graduated to being Truck Dog for one of the regular truckers that came through, my brother and I lost our wrestling partner, and we were left with an empty yard...
But not for too long.
This dog was bigger than my brother and I combined, but he never hurt us, no matter how wild we got when we were playing with him. My brother would wrestle with him, and Max would ALWAYS win, by the simple expedient of sitting on him.
Me, I rode him like a pony.
Of course, Max was also the reason that we put in a six foot fence.
At that point my parents were running a restaurant, and we had a house right across the parking lot from it. When Max was a puppy, we had a typical four foot chain link fence, and it wasn't a problem. When he got bigger, though, it started to be a problem.
See, Max liked people, and he was smart enough to realize that the cafe was part of our territory, and thus part of his. We never had a problem with him being aggressive with people, but he did frighten a lot of them.
Max, being a big puppy, decided to get out of the yard and go say hi to the customers that pulled in to the cafe lot. And soon, he started taking the slower ones by the hand and leading them to the front door, and then back out to their cars.
He always delivered the right person to the right car.
Of course, the older people got a little startled when a hundred plus pounds of dog came bounding up to them, grabbing their hand, even if gently, in a mouth full of teeth and slobber, and leading them up to the door of the cafe.
Max graduated to being Truck Dog for one of the regular truckers that came through, my brother and I lost our wrestling partner, and we were left with an empty yard...
But not for too long.
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