Oh my sweet lovies,
you are too good to me.

I all but abandon you and yet you take me to your bosom.

Thank you for the private messages.
You is good peoples.

I have much to tell you, but it is not yet time.
It could be glorious.
or fizzle like a dud during the grand finale.

I have abused your tolerance for crazy things,
but I will not apologize.

That’s just how a wild woman roles.

Until then, enjoy a little Ralph.

We spent most of the day working outside, with a few breaks sitting under the pine, letting the Oklahoma breeze do its thing.  The sun and warmth were glorious today.

I was itching to prep my gardens, so I drug out my tools and started the therapeutic chore of overturning the soil.  A little at a time, all my strength would allow, each shovelful releasing an earthy perfume.  I inhaled deeply. 

Rather than the normal veggies, I will fill these beds with flowers this year, canna bulbs, ornamental grasses, hostas and some color.  Feeling the need for something lush.  And of course, there will be sunflowers.  My garden is not complete without them.

The veggies will be planted in waist-high beds.  Today we stacked old metal horse watering troughs onto cinder blocks.  They most certainly expose my redneck roots, but hopefully this will make it easier for me to tend to my salsa veggies.  I think I will paint the cinder blocks a cream color.

We also started placing my garden art back into the garden beds.  I was tempted to put everything back into the same spots, but decided to shake things up a bit.  I am having fun, but most of my pieces are heavy, so I doubt MM is having as much fun as I am.
 
Still, he smiled.

And even drove us down the highway to the Dairy Queen for a little ice cream.

The canine are all happily tucked into their beds.  They wear themselves out on days like this, chasing butterflies, harassing the trucks on the road and taking dips in the galvanized water trough.  Actually, Yosemite Sami is the one who likes to swim.  I tell her I really don’t think the other dogs want to drink her butt water.  She wiggles at me, then continues to cool herself in what she has claimed to be her personal pool. 

Annie Oakley is snoring. 

My own eyes are getting heavy.  I doubt I will be able to get through the Big Valley episode I have playing before drifting off myself.  I like watching the same shows over and over.  I don’t know why. 

MM is probably watching something creepy on Netflix.  He just signed up last night for the free thirty days offer.  I pretty much only watch vintage movies and westerns. Would Netflix work for me?  Tell me what you like/dislike about it. 

And now, I have a date with my pillow.

Good night, my lovies. 

A decent wife would have felt badly.

And I did.

Somewhat.

But, obviously not enough to hold back my laughter.

Meteorology Man and I have been talking plans for the fancy kennel and preparing for its construction.  Before we can get started, we need to move the hay to another building.  We talked through the options and details.

Every.

Last.

Detail.

We agreed on a plan and had every element covered.

Since we are down to only two horses, they no longer need the whole loafing shed.  The plan was to divide that space with a fence and gate.  MM got started putting in the fence posts right after his afternoon jog.

He came in all cut up, dirty and sweaty after the job was complete.  My man works hard to make things happen for his queen and her neurotic canine.

We both headed back outside so I could check out his work and measure the gate space, but when we got to the loafing shed, there was no fence. I looked at MM and asked where’s the fence?

He looked at me like I was crazy, a daily occurrence these days, and then tells me it’s in the loafing shed.

But this is the loafing shed.

He points to my pavilion and claims that is the loafing shed.

He put up the fencing in the wrong building.

He says it’s totally my fault because I wasn’t out there bossing him.

Folks, you heard it here first.

My man just admitted he needs me to tell him what to do.

A nag’s Boss Lady’s dream come true.

So, tell me about one of your miscommunications.

For my more fragile flowers out there, this may not be the post for you.

It’s graphic.

Scientific.

There are even sound effects.

A bit more intimate than some of you may be comfortable getting.

Some things should just remain behind closed doors,
but I am exposing a piece of myself
in hopes that someone else out there who is suffering will now have hope.

Or at least make someone laugh.

I mean those sound effects.
They totally bring out my twelve year old boy.

Here of late, it’s been like birthin’ buffalo.

I told you, not for the fragile.

TURN BACK NOW

I’ve always struggled because of the genes I inherited, but even during times of remission, things can get a little strenuous.

While reading my health blogs, I stumbled across this in all its bathroom glory.

I think my Crohn’s might have cried.

Considering I have tried to unsuccessfully assimilate this position with stacks of Charmin packages before I even heard of the benefits of squatting, I think I am onto something good.

I give you the Squatty Potty.

They even have it available in tao bamboo wood tone.

I wonder if I can get a rush order on this thing?

Yes, I am seriously ordering one.

Shut up.

And I am even throwing in a bottle or two of this.

This is not the end of this

and crohns disease,
you will not have the last laugh.

For one day,
one day greater than this day
He will embrace me

and I will laugh
louder

for all things cruel
will be left behind

no pain
no blame
no shame

only euphoria satisfying soul

and I will laugh.

I know. I am about as useless to Xanga as teats on a boar hog.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

If it’s not shivering under my electric blanket upon my bed of death,
it’s packing up my whole house in boxes for the freaking fun of it.

While I take a break from unpacking and smooging with Cactus Jack, let’s break this ugly cycle of updates, woe is me and glory hallelujah I got my ranch back posts.  You up for some questions?  It‘s been quite a spell since I got nosy with you. 

1. When is the last time you drove with your car windows down?

2. How do feel about ditching your shoes and getting back to our barefooted roots and EARTHING?

3. I tried to go to our local Walmart (next town down the highway 12 miles) and couldn’t even get in the parking lot because of all the police cars.  Has your local Walmart ever had a bomb threat?

4. What’s your favorite Girl Scout cookie?

5. Insect repellant: friend or foe?

BONUS QUESTION: What if you were my granddaughter and your 3rd birthday was back in early January and you had yet to receive a birthday gift from your Grammy Tamy? 

Would you,

a. Call her cell phone, that she never answers because it’s always dead and buried in the bottom of her purse, and tell her she’s a sorry excuse for a grandmother.

b. Say nothing, because you expect she will do something really big to make up for her lapse in mental capacity.

c. Lower your expectations, because you know it’s all downhill from here. Like a three-legged mule. On fire.

Like I said, teats on a boar hog.

Okay, you mangy varmints, I need to get back to wrestling these moving boxes.
I miss you!

and follow the dusty road home to Watering Hole Ranch.

A place where red earth meets the sky
and horizons speak dreams,

where a beautiful red dun mare
and a handsome paint gelding await my return,
mostly for handfuls of alfalfa treats,

where frogs sing the praises of refreshed ponds,

and water dances down the buried rocks in the Oklahoma earth.

A place where a wild woman’s soul will reunite with her heart.