Year of the Rat 4706
27 December 2008 AD
Saturday, 1026 hrs. CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA
USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital of The World."
Hang on: gotta get some music going.... Ah, much better. Went with Vivaldi this morning.
There is the tale of the Penny Jar, and I am not sure I can do it justice, but it goes something like this: In the first year one is married, put a penny in a jar every time one makes love. After the first year, take out a penny for the same reason. The jar will never be empty, or so the tale goes.
Now--me--I've had a hard time from keeping the jar from over-flowing--change tends to cascade across every level surface of the house in a cataract of silver, nickel and copper. I may not be adept, but I am adroit, ...or so I am told(But moreover what I believe to be true). We red-heads tend to be... uh,... more passionate than most, to put it in the most polite way.
But what is more important is the spending of the money. It has to be spent, or the world will come to a stand still. This is the Paradox of Thrift. If you save money, there is no money to spend, and the economy will just collapse. Money has to keep moving.
I'm not saying empty your savings accounts; all I'm saying is empty the penny jars, and share the wealth. Put money back into the economy.
But the best part of this plan is filling up the jar again. (Giggle).
Rage, rage,...
~Hob
Post Script:
I'll get to the Bail-Out in about a week. A trillion dollars for malfeasant greed-heads?! My sainted aunt! That's our money!!
~H
Year Of The Rat 4706
25 December 2008 AD
Thursday, 2355 hrs CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA
USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital Of The World."
"'Tis lonesome away
From your kindred and all
Out in the hills
Where the wild dingos call
But there's nothing
So morbid, lonesome, or drear
Than to stand at the bar
Of a pub with no beer."
~Australian drinking song
The cornucopia of greed is over, and I've made almost all of my phone calls. There are still about seven people I have yet to reach, but there is time enough.
I rattled around in an empty house for most of the day, took a couple of naps, seasoned some cast iron skillets, and smoked like a tire fire. Life is a hoot, and I am not embarrassed by living it.
John Lennon said it best: 'And so this is Christmas.' Great song, and brilliant words, though 'Give Peace A Chance' may rival it.
Where am I going with this? I dunno, but I do know this:
"We hold these truths to be self evident, that we are granted by our Creator with certain unalienable rights..."
Amen.
I can't say it better.
Merry Christmas and the happiest of New Years'.
And always,
Rage, rage,...
~Hob
Year of The Rat 4706
1 December 2008 AD
Monday, 0724 hrs. CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA
USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital of the World."
It snowed here yesterday--about four inches--and more is on the way. Thus begins another long and lonely winter.
Some days, it's not so bad: the snow falling, a fire crackling in the fireplace, Mozart or Bach on the stereo, coffee and bacon in the kitchen, rum on the sideboard, and a few dollars in one's pocket. Sometimes someone to share the beauty with, but mostly not.
Other times it is just ugly: brutal cold, sloppy ice and slush, dirty snow and a bitterness which seeps into one's bones. Bad streets, short tempers, thoughts of suicide and a heap of unopened bills.
Still, I would not have it any other way. This is Life, goddamn it, and we are each lucky to have it. There is a cycle and rhythm in Nature, and winter is nap time, a time of a certain laziness and introspection, a chance to think those long thoughts in a white-draped world, a moment literally frozen.
I had that option yesterday to sit and think, and out of nowhere came a quote I can't place or wholly remember. It goes something like this:
If you know you only have 24 hours to live, what would you say, and to whom would you speak? Why are you waiting?
I've said since I was 40, that the first third of my life is over. I believe in human will and the amazing machine which harbors it. I will be 46 in March, so the math makes me 138 when I die, if I do. And I don't believe in death. For someone to say to me, 'you have to die,' I say 'prove it.' Show me someone is dead--not papers, not bodies, not bones--prove I absolutely HAVE to die. It is then that they fall silent. No where is it written that we have to die. Tom Robbins wrote a great novel about this called "Jitterbug Perfume." I recommend it highly, and should be on every reading list(TA: your next assigned reading. See also Still Life with Woodpecker).
But, were I to die, what wisdom would I pass on? What would I say in my last 24 hours? These things:
~You are loved greatly. I should have said it more, and actually meant it, rather than just reciting something you thought you needed to hear.
~Do not be afraid. We all have courage. How you use yours is entirely up to you.
~Trust your instincts. If it feels wrong, it is. There is no excuse.
~Endeavor to fail. Make mistakes big and bold, and learn from them. Only God is perfect, and even then it took Him 14 billion years to get it right.(At least in this solar system) (chuckle) Or maybe that was His plan all along.
~Pursue your passions relentlessly. Never mind what others say. If you like it, do it.
~Make deep and abiding friendships. Never cast away anyone who may have something to offer, regardless of how angry they made you, or you them
~Know time is yours. Linger over lunch, walk in the rain, wander through libraries and museums when you are supposed to be at work or school. But also know you do have responsibilities--some to others, some to society, some to yourself.
~Read. Learn all that is know-able, even if it seems boring. Your brain is far, far bigger than all the computers ever built. It rivals the world wide web in its arc, depth and scope. And it's all yours. But it has to be fed and exercised.
~Write. Journals, diaries, recipes, designs, blogs.... whatever. Hammer at the keyboard, lash away with a pen. Someday, someone will understand, and take solace in and energy from your words.
~Believe in magic and miracles. Believe in ghosts and Santa Claus and UFOs. There are secrets in this world if one were to open one's eyes. Watch dawn over the stormy ocean, see snow fall on pines and cedars, smell the musty scent of damp leaves, or freshly turned dirt, revel in the way music makes you feel... These things are magical and miraculous, but to many, they seem mundane. Not so.
~Share. Give of your life.
~Be honest. Guard your integrity and practice it relentlessly.
~Say 'Fuck you. I am not dying, and you can't stop me from living.'
These are the things I would say in my last 24 hours should that moment ever come to pass. And here is the list of people I would say it to:
Tyler, Hunter, Tucker, Deb, Jennifer, Jen, Lois, Dorie, Doc, Hawk, Finn, Linda, Paula, Fred, Sharon, Fred, Brian, Keith, John, Lisa, Rob, Dennie, Mike, Mark, Lee, Paula, Nick, JD, Laurel, Denise, Leah, Lelia, John, Scott, Todd, Tiff, Sue, Susan, Jon, Howard, Randy, Tracey, Stephanie, Jim, Mark, Magnum, Wills, Jeff, Chef, Charlie, Lynn, Brooke, Bob, Chris, Steve, Megan, Meg, Nancy, Jim Trina, Wanda, Paul, Roger, Roger, Mary Beth, Rizzo, Mark, Eric, Dave, Mona, Tuffy, Roxie, Doanie, Michelle, Reba, Jem, and Karen....
I'm sure if I went through the whole list, it would probably swamp the web, a bandwidth so wide and powerful it might cause planes to fall from the sky.
The thing is we all have this power, the ability to touch lives, and to make changes.
I don't think the first third of my life was wasted.
Rage, rage,....
~Hob
Year Of the Rat 4706
24 November 2008 AD
Monday, 1909 hrs. CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA
USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital of The World."
I keep odd hours.
Not because of jobs or projects--simply because I can't sleep. Or when I do sleep, I do not sleep well. Not only am I often haunted by my past transgressions, but also there is just so much to learn, so many things to do, an ever growing bucket list of things to accomplish....
Hmm. I think I have mentioned this before. Probably just as well: re-current themes are replete in almost all literature.
I was struck today by the idea that humans spend half their lives in the dark, both literally and figuratively. Sunlight lasts for anywhere between 8 and 15 hours per day in these climes, but that still leaves night; that can't be changed. And while ignorance makes a good excuse and an easy fall-back position, it is about the most moronic thing I have ever heard.
We live in an unprecedented age of available knowledge. At no other time in the entire history of mankind have we been able to access the entire scope of human understanding.
And it is going to waste.
But I was struck by this quote this morning:
"And in what state of Nature, no arts; no letters; no society; And which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death; and the life of man: solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."
~~Thomas Hobbes, Levithan
Doesn't sound good, does it? Hobbes was that way a lot when I knew him--always whining about some fool thing, especially after lying about his drinking. I got the 'solitary' and 'poor' parts down pat. They seem to be my stock in trade. And truly they make my life a lot easier; there is a lot of freedom in being alone. I'm not too worried about the 'nasty' and 'brutish' bits--to be sure, I can be mean, vindictive, sarcastic, snide, bitter, and a host of other negative appelations, but never the aforementioned. And my life will not be short, even given my alcoholism, nicotine addiction and insomnia. My clan is long-lived, most all living into their 90's. I figure I got about another four decades.
But what I noticed is what Hobbes was saying: Nature doesn't care. It is only ourselves who are to blame if we don't make something of ourselves.
There is another quote that I like:
"Character is what you are in the dark."
True words; if you can't be honest when no one can see you, then might as well not be at all. Save some air for the rest of us who actually enjoy having integrity, who--though afraid--still have the courage to face the challenges of life without slinking around like sewer rats. Look, just quit making excuses; like I've said before: pony up or shut up. Because only you will ever know the whole truth, no matter who hears you, but if you can't face yourself for your deeds, if you rely on rationalization to make every decision, if you have an excuse for not accomplishing anything ever, then maybe you should seek answers elsewhere.
(Chuckle) Yow! got out there a bit, didn't I? I don't even know what possessed my to write tonight, but I did. While none of you may understand, I just felt 'A Call.' Someone was hurting, and my empathy picked it up. I can't explain it any better than that. I have to admit I am not seer or a counselor or even guy who has his own head and heart right, but I do trust my instincts, and I heard a voice somewhere. Perhaps it was mine own. I really don't know.
But if you are listening and reading, then please hear and read these words:
~~Don't be afraid. We are all just as scared as you are.
~~Let go of your past. Understand it, but move forward.
~~Always remember you have total freedom to choose your life as you want it lived. No one can take that away.
I also recommend two books:
~Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
~Illusions by Richard Bach
And one last thing: always,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light,
~Hob
Year Of The Rat 4706
October 10, 2008 AD
Friday, 1542 hrs CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA
USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital of The World."
I have to admit I am reluctant to post these next items, and face the prospect with no little trepidation. But, in all fairness, many Readers have 'put their Life on ''on the 'Line,'' as it were, and I realize with creeping fear that I must do the same. A balance, one thing for another. A price, if I may.
There are no good pictures of me--ever. It seems to be a genetic quirk in the DNA of my family. No amount of technology in cameras will ever fix this. But this is also accurate. We are who we are, and make no bones about it. As family historian, I have scads of photographs dating back to the 1810's. The Wear/Bumbarger/Buechler/Wilson/Phipps/Olsen family tree is deeply rooted, and down to the sepia-toned tin-type there is an 'issue' in every image. It may just be bad photography(don't I wish), or it may be a wealth of, well, somethings else, which tend to hover nearby. Most of my family does not believe in the paranormal. I appreciate and respect that--just because they're wrong doesn't mean they don't have the right to an opinion. Anyway, the below is probably the most honest picture of me ever taken in over a decade.
I am the gentleman on your right; the tall young man is my son( # 1 of 3--Wears almost always have boys; my neice Katie is the first and only in five generations. (Wait; No, Christine was the first--my cousin. There are no other females) on his high school graduation day(sorta looks like Napolean Dynamite, doesn't he?), June 2nd, 2008, Eau Claire, WI USA.
This second post is a watercolor I did while sons Two and Three were here with me this past winter. I will not post their pictures because they are underage. They were home-schooled while their mother moved to a different state(see previous posts). That day was art class, and I sat at the table with them and attempted to demonstrate technique even though I didn't know anything. Imagine my surprise when this showed up:
Uh oh, My apologies; The picture won't load.
I'll try again another time. But what I learned is something everyone should learn--simple strokes make the art. Four lines make a square but ten make a cube--two-dimensional to three-dimensional. Life is like that, and both the parallel and metaphor are obvious--small steps, simple strokes; a bit at a time creates not the art, but rather, the artist.
Odd thing that then that so many worry about the coloring inside the lines since they are the one's who created those lines in the first place.
And through it all, we all--always--
'Rage, rage, against the dying of the light,'
~~Hob
Year of The Rat 4706
October 7, 2008 AD
1358 hrs CST
HobWerx, Inc. World Headquarters
Stormcrow Ranch Facility
Boone, IA
USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital of The World."
Constant Reader~
I am attempting to post a couple of pics. so that some might see what I work on--one of the many passions I pursue with rabid abandon.
The one on the right is called "The Value of Salt," or "Tansu's Lament." This was a private commission and a gift. It again is red cedar, but bound in black metal with brass highlights.
Although both turned out well, I am not completely happy with either. I suppose that is the craftsman in me.
Some notes: The wood I use has to be at least 80 years old. I use yellow pine, red cedar, ash and coffee wood exclusively, though most oftenly cedar with various stains. As much as I'd like to work with oak or mahogany, blocks of said wood are currently beyond my humble funds. The fittings are all solid brass, with the exception of Tansu's Lament which is black steel and solid brass.
Three other designs have been built and delivered: Hob's Foray, Love's Constraint. and Hope's Future. These too reside in a private collection. I have clear designs for seven total, and notes and sketches for another ten more in my notebooks(I am particularly drawn to a design called Moon and Stars--dark wood with brass highlights)
Please do not bother me with requests. If, and when, I ever decide to sell these glorified paperweights, some of you will be the first to know through my field representative TA. Should the time arise, she will handle all requests, mailings and billings of the entire Eastern seaboard, from Cuba to Nova Scotia and west to The Mississippi river. Smart lady, that one. Now I just gotta break the news to her that she has been promoted.
One last item: don't bother trying to copy these designs. To be sure they are easy to create, but they cannot be duplicated. And I have and hold both copyright and trademark status for the next seventeen years. So, were one to steal my design, how much money and time do you have to spend in court? That is fair warning enough. If you doubt the veracity of my claims please do some research into patents under the names Buechler and/or Wear. That is my family, and we are adept at protecting our ideas and have the bills from lawyers to prove it.
As to me, I prefer to be non-confrontational. Allow me to be a quiet craftsman in a tiny town in the Midwest. I would ask no less of you, where ever one might reside. Perhaps if one were to merely ask, a deal could be struck, one which would be mutually beneficial. But those days are three to six months down the line.
Through it all, I always,
Rage, rage,...
~Hob
Year of The Rat 4706
October 3, 2008 AD
2138 hrs, CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital Of The World"
Ah, yet again way-laid by life. I have been gone far too long, as I was recently reminded by one of my most ardent fans. (Counting her, that makes uh, hang on... let me do the math.... one). Like anything good, it takes a certain adherent to discipline to be good at anything. I regret--and revel in--the fact that I am NOT disciplined. There are no limits aside from dealing with the moronic machinations of so-called polite society, and even in that I can say without a doubt that I am on very few Christmas card lists. ( I get one from my parents, The Arbor Day Foundation, Marlboro cigarettes, The NRA, and what's left of the Republican Party--inclusively, not exactly the best company to keep in this day and age).
It is said a bowl of soup fulfills its purpose by being empty. I believe this. The soup has purpose, the bowl has purpose, and this is where I find myself in just beginning the second third of my life--good soup, empty bowl--looking for the next course, if there is one.
My latest projects have kept me busy in the shop, at the keyboard, and on-line.
The last first: I have been in contact with a gentleman on the East Coast who seems to think I have a way with words. We are working on something I cannot divulge as of yet--actually several somethings. To date, my work is not available, but you may check out his by going to YouTube and searching for 'artist064.' This guy does all this stuff himself! It is amazing. Truly. My aspect of these projects comes later, but it is an endeavor I believe in, and therefore has merit. I do many, many things half-assed--I am the first to admit it--but these will not be one of them. I'm pretty sure this is not wherein I garner my brief 'fifteen minutes of fame;' I don't take much truck in that concept. Fame is fame, but only the coin of the realm while there are those who are interested. After that, it is history, a tiny spot on the Map of Ages( 'Fame, USA; one gas station, four taverns, two churches, on the road to 'Someplace Else' Caution: Paparazzi Crossing--Keep private life inside vehicle(s) at all times').
{Sorry. Here's a story I harp on, and one that has disappeared, magically apparently: Back in the 80's there was the Congressional Banking Scandal, wherein members of both the House and Senate wrote bad checks against accounts held by the Bank of Congress. Now, any bad check over $10,000 is considered a felony, and by Constititional Law no one with a felony can hold public office. And yet, individuals with 'issues' still retain their public offices, individuals who are guaranteed a raise every year that they voted for themselves. This tale is no longer reported, nor even prosecuted. Is that fame, or is that infamy? (although here it must be noted that 'flammable' and 'inflammable' do mean the same thing, and I have the scars to prove it). If you doubt my word(s) and the veracity of my claims, please do some research and get back to me. I would truly enjoy being wrong about people who just crushed a global economy through malfeasence and greed).
My short stories, and e-mails take up the middle, the brunt of my available time. I am not good at sound bites or quick text messages. I was trained to write, to communicate in a rich and diverse language. I am not limited by 'LOL' or 'OICU812' (translation of the latter: 'Oh, I see; you ate one too'). Well, that's bullshit to my mind. Talk or write; practice with elan and passion those tiny letters who struggled so hard the scrawl in kindergarten, those words you failed on the the 6th grade spelling test. I do it every day in literal word and deed. Therefore. I am often away from this particular outlet because I am busy elsewhere. It is nothing against those of you who happen to have my screed cross your desk--I just believe that communication can be better than than C U @ X('see you at 10 o'clock'). And to pay $0.15 for every message.
Finally, in my wood-shop--aside from refinishing and furniture commissions--I have created a thing I call WishBoxes.
They are simple brass-bound cubes of wood which are designed to fulfill and hold wishes. I like them, and truly enjoy creating them. As yet, they are not for sale. I am still practicing before they are released to the general market. I have two to finish and send: one goes to New Jersey and one goes to TA in Florida. I will offer no more information unless there is interest. Otherwise, once they show up on the Web, all parties pay the full price of materials plus labor plus a stipend for the artist. (It works out to about $55; shipping is half the usual price, and regrettably, additional. Honestly, I would love these things to take off and sell, but grits ain't groceries, and just because there's soap in the pantry doesn't mean it's food).
This is not an advertisement; I could care one whit whether you buy one or not--I'll build the bastards anyway.
But here is part of the copy:
"If it does not touch you, then walk away, and spend your money elsewhere and more wisely..."
Mostly, I just want to to write, and to read, and to cook and to work in my shop Seems simple enough.
I will try to get back here more often so that I might.
~~Hob/Bone
.
Year Of The Rat 4707
March 14, 2008, AD
Friday, 0244 AM CDT
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA USA
'Squirrel Corn Capital of The World'
Sorry. I've been away for a bit. My focus has been divided. To be sure, I am busy with all elements of my learning.
I've had a bad couple of weeks--the monkeys left and I wandered empty rooms, picking up left-over toys and pretending not to cry because I missed them so much. Maudlin sentimentality, I'm sure. It will pass, buried and filed away only to be re-lived in nightmares of loss and regret. Nitzche said it first, but Bruce Willis sang it better: 'If it doesn't kill you, it only makes you stronger.' Smart boys, both these hawnyackers. See also Jimmy Buffet's album 'Fruitcakes.'
Aside from my cooking, wood-shop commisions, and goofy antics, I also get many requests for some of my words. Dunno why. I suppose one more thing I can be teased about on my death-bed. Anyway, to fulfill one of said requests, I offer the following:
And Call Her Name In The Night
I speak her name
In the dark of night
Between dreams of others
Lost souls who call to me.
My soul can stand on the Sun
Dance on the rings of Saturn
But I cannot tell the Lost
How beautiful Life is.
Through it all, I think of Her
And call her name in the night
A bed with one pillow
And the tangled sheets of the sleepless
Can she truly be so far away?
Does she think of me,
In the purple, pre-dawn light?
Or am I alone?
~~unfinished rough
08/31/05
My Grandfather's Dream
Green and yellow and brown,
Colors of late summer
Slipping into fall
Fields of harvests and hopes.
Long, straight rows,
Near-perfect squares
Bound by wire, wood and road
And hard-won sweat.
Care-worn, laugh-creased faces
Eyes, sun-faded but alive
Hearts etched with worry
Souls seared by hardship
Tall, proud and alone
A figure walks toward
The quiet light in the gathering gloom
A glimmer where family dwells
The sun casts long shadows
On a broken combine.
A sigh, a shrug, a small smile.
Tomorrow is another day
In the heart of Iowa.
~~C. Hob Wear
09/02/05
Of these two, I like the latter the best. It is my hope, I captured a farmer coming in from his chores, seeking sanctuary in a haven called home. Being a city-ish boy, I only saw these moments a couple of times when my brothers and I visited Grampa Olson on the farm, but I know it was always dark--dawn when he went out, and dusk when he came in. I also saw it when my father would commute to work--a soul dedicated not to himself, but to his family. Ye gods, I wish I was half the man these men are/were.
My journals and notes are littered with elbow-edited things loosely akin to poetry. There are many, but there are two more--one in particular--I would share. Look for 'The Good Ship Fate Mountain' in the near future("...booted heels thumping on decks of polished bone...").
But not today. I turn exactly 45 years of age in two hours(at least in this life). My ex-father-in-law took me to dinner tonight(we share the same birthday oddly enough--along with Michael Caine, Billy Crystal and Albert Einstein). Afterward, I hiked up to Wilson's and began my celebration as I have for the last seven years--alone with my cigarettes and rum, reflecting, and actively avoiding well-meaning friends who would leave the birthday boy puking on his hard-traveled boots and sleeping in an alley after countless shots. I am still awake, and a jug awaits on the side-board, but as Robert Frost said: "...And miles to go before I sleep."
I will leave you with this though--a pun, of sorts, especially for food-ies:
"I like old recipes--we can have archiac and eat it too."
~~C. Hob Wear
Rage, rage,...
Year of The Rat 4706
February 13, 2008 AD
Wednesday, 1410 hrs CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital Of The World"
I've been married three times now.
Mostly good except for that end part where they leave. Yes. It is always they who leave. Apparently, I tend to wear down wives and/or girlfriends with my odd hours and chaotic ways. The world doesn't always fit both their views and mine at the same moment. Sure. At first it's a hoot. And easy. The exploring, the learning, the passion--all in a new romance. But after awhile, the wonderful ladies realize I am exactly who I say I am--hell, I've told them all along--and suddenly I am alone again.
It's not so bad; the first three years are the toughest. The wandering the empty house, the repeated glances out the window, the big bed with one warm pillow, seeing other people who are happy
At first, it gets to you. Not the loneliness; Instead the feeling of being incomplete, like there really should be someone else there. Who's going to water the plants, who's going to do the laundry, who's going to pay the bills, who invented liquid soap and why? All these things. And then, one morning, after troubled dreams of replays of regrets, you wake up sprawled across the whole bed, and you think to yourself, hmm. This is kind of cool. The coffee is already made because you set the timer yourself the night before, there are fresh eggs and bacon in the fridge ready for frying because you bought them yourself, there are cigarettes, rum, coke, matches, lighters, beer, saki, potatoes, steaks, light bulbs, cheese, batteries, toilet paper, butter, garlic, onions, etc. because you went to the store yourself. You look out the window with your coffee and cigarette and although the view is the same the vision is not, and you think to yourself: this is really cool. Now, you suddenly hunger for life, but not on 'their' terms. You have become whole, and there is suddenly no need--nor want--for a 'better half.'
There is still that itch, the lust for contact which is hard-wired into your body, but this has been supplanted by something far more pleasurable and rewarding--the joy of self(in fact there might be a whole series of books on these things: Joy of... Sex, Cooking, Origami, Parenthood, Quantum Physics, etc. Truth to tell, there may even be a Being Human For Dummies).
"Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."
~~Oscar Wilde
Ooba. Now that that rant and rail are over,...
I have the great pleasure of having my two littlest ones here with me while their mother bails on a messy relationship and builds a new life for the three of them. Before anyone asks: I love and respect all my exs. While some may not feel the same about me, I see little good is creating and re-creating animosity. I also trust X3 to do what is best.
Anyway, before the Monkeys(Hunter, 7 and Tucker, 4) move on to their next adventure they are staying with their father.
It is tough being a single father once again. It is essentially two against one, and I cannot keep up. At any given moment, the house could qualify for a FEMA loan. I have to give credit to mothers, fathers, and caretakers. Laundry alone is a full time job, and dishes account for fully half my day. Through some odd mix of timing and food prep, I wound up eating left-over tater tots out of a dog dish last night because it was the last clean thing in the kitchen.
And it was the greatest meal of my life because I got to watch their sleeping faces, tiny angels in repose. And little monsters who will run amok on the morrow. Who, in fact, have once again remodeled my house while they set up for a puppet show for Daddy and his girlfriend, Deb. They are rehearsing right now and keep coming to me with questions about the special effects. I hope the vacuum holds up because there is going to be styrofoam peanuts everywhere. Apparently, part of the play takes place during a snowstorm.
Uh oh. Gotta run. Dress rehearsal before Johnny Test comes on.
"Why not go out on a limb: after all, that's where the fruit is."
~~Mark Twain
Update: The Monkey Puppet Players just presented 'The Mother and Baby Bat Save The Transformers At The North Pole With the Hot Wheels' Help, and Then They All Went To McDonalds for Chicken McNuggets." I thoroughly enjoyed the show.
Other reviewers had this to say:
"...A romp! Sedate, sublime and entertaining..."
"...A satirical tour de force..."
"...the whismy and self-effacing wit is impossible to ignore..."
"...their harshest critic can say little wrong of this greatest opus to date..."
'Course, I'm their Dad. What else could I expect?
And to a far-away and new-found friend:
"The Devil is an angel, too."
Beauseant, mon ami. Beauseant, indeed.
~~Bone
Year Of The Pig 4705
February 6, 2008 AD
Wednesday, 0901 hrs. CST
Stormcrow Ranch
Boone, IA USA
"Squirrel Corn Capital of The World."
Ann Coulter on Hannity and Colmes, Forrest Gump on WE, Bonnie & Clyde on the History Channel--I flipped through all these as the returns came in on Super Tuesday. Seemed appropriate--criminals, morons, and opinionated hottie blondes. Ah yes--politics in America.
A quick review--a sampling--gives the win to Clinton, which surprises me. Still the numbers do not indicate a win by Clinton overall. 14 states said yes ,sort of. And Obama almost even. This is a head to head to race. There is still an odd aspect on the Republican side. McCain, will fight to the end. Paul, Huckabee, et al , are done. In fact, my Republicans are finished. In this race, Democrats will rule and win.
But will this change anything? W. allocated a $600 rebate due July. And his trillion dollar budget was approved by a largely Democratic Congress. This can't be changed. each of us will take our money, grateful that finally our government is working. And Congress still gets an automatic raise every year. AND YOU ALLOW THIS!!
Please, Democrat or Republican stop this, and vote for a president who believes in line-item veto
But this is not really the point, is it? Benjamin Franklin said long ago 'we shall all hang together or we shall all hang seperatly.'(damn, why can't I spell this word?!).
True words.
This ain't church camp.
~~Hob
....Look, if anyone ever reads this
